


Demonfall

by Plutonically (Simplici_Tea)



Category: Original Story, Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Banter, Demons, Eventual Smut, Fantasy, Female Lead, Found Family, Magic, Multi, Original Characters - Freeform, Original Story - Freeform, Possible smut, Romance, Sarcasm, Sex Magic, Sex Positive, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:28:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27151793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Simplici_Tea/pseuds/Plutonically
Summary: In the land of Valdysia, legend and truth have been blended for thousands of years. When an ancient evil begins to stir once more, Ezramia Styxan finds herself thrust into a world of millennia old magic, power struggles, and plots years in the making.Ezra must learn to master her power in order to survive. Even harder, she must learn to trust those around her before the world is cast into chaos the likes of which haven’t been seen in millennia. Spies, assassins, kings and queens, there’s always a new threat right around the corner.
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So I’ve never posted any of my writing before and I’m super nervous, but I welcome any constructive criticism or tips! (Been out of school for a while so I’m a little rusty on grammar and such but always looking to learn :D ) Anyways I hope you enjoy going on this journey with Ezra and I 💜

Pulling her knees up to her chest, Ezramia Styxan ran her palms down her legs, trying to work warmth back into them. The tiny fire she had made had doing little to warm her. Rather, it was drawing her attention to just how cold she was. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d even had feeling in her fingers, let alone her feet. Honestly, she worried what she would find if she pulled her boots and socks off.  
She’d been on her own for a year now, refusing to think about her brother, or the fact that she was being hunted.  
It had been so much easier when she’d been able to use her family’s cabin. A shame that it had been ransacked since she’d been gone. Winters were harsh, but she’d been able to find places to stay. It was Velarian, the month of darkness that made survival difficult. The constant darkness offered absolutely no warmth. The earlier winter months were a blessing and a breeze compared to this hell. At least there was sunlight in other months, clouded over as it may be. But this? There was not a shred of warmth the land offered. It was as if Beral had leeched it from the very earth beneath her feet.  
It was the Amoratti power within that kept her alive, that tiny spark she had no idea how to wield was the only warmth. She’d felt the change as soon as she’d...  
Ezra blinked and forced the memory away.  
The cave she rested in had been hard to find, nearly completely obscured by snow and darkness. While her eyes were good, they were no match for complete darkness, and the moon hadn’t been able to peek through the clouds. She had managed to make a ball of light, either from her own power or from the Amoratti power sizzling beneath her skin, she wasn’t sure. Regardless, the ball of blue tinged light had been her only guide, though it never lasted more than a handful of minutes. There was no indication which territory she was in. She had felt something a few miles back, a thrum of power that wasn’t hers. Seeking out a hiding place immediately, she’d stayed crouched in the shelter of a leaning tree. After an hour, maybe two, she had decided the aching in her bones wasn’t worth it, and continued on.  
Her power burned beneath her skin, annoyingly insistent on being freed. She’d never been trained to use Amoratti power specifically, it had never been meant be to passed to her. That oversight left her with no idea how she was supposed to do things properly, as she had rarely been allowed to see Therik training with his power.  
She swallowed at the thought of her brother and forced herself to focus on releasing the power in small amounts.  
Reaching toward the fire, she focused on the flames, magnifying them, watching them crawl up her hand, winding around her fingers. It didn’t burn, rather it almost tickled. Feeling leeched back into her fingers, a small mercy that only reiterated how cold the rest of her was. She may not fully understand the power, but she could at least use it to help warm her frozen limbs.  
Letting her mind drift for a moment too long, pain lanced her fingers and she shook them out with a sharp hiss. She’d burned herself again, fingers turning an angry red colour. Cursing her lack of training, she fell into fresh misery, trying again to warm her frozen limbs.  
An hour later, she had finally worked feeling back into her entire body. A bittersweet feat, considering it would only allow her to feel each and every bit of warmth seep from her skin again. The plethora of furs she’d made into clothing from her kills over the year helped, but did little once the cold set in.  
Belly aching with hunger, Ezra finally laid down beside the measly fire, wondering if she’d be able to sleep. It would be nice if she could conjure food with the power, but fuck if she knew how. Maybe if she’d ever had any training...  
Eventually, exhaustion overcame her, pulling her into sleep. 

***

Her only warning was a flash of a vision, the centre of her forehead tingling as a glimpse of dark wings and iridescent eyes.  
Coming awake with a gasp, Ezra shot up, blinking away the blindness that came with visions and drawing her dagger.  
“Calm yourself.”  
Ezra bristled at the male voice that now echoed through her cave. An intruder. Or perhaps she herself was the intruder. She honestly had no idea what territory she’d wandered into. She knew it wasn’t Oraleus. But that was all she knew. Rarely had she travelled with her family to other territories, not even for celebrations. She’d been too young, or had been left at home.  
Was her vision accurate? If she wasn’t mistaken, those wings and eyes...  
Iridanian.  
She was somewhere in the Heart. The knowledge settled into her, as if plucked from the man himself.  
Eyes darting around, she struggled to pinpoint the source of the voice.  
“You’re Amoratti.”  
Not a question, a statement.  
Ezra curled her lip and growled in response, still trying to locate the source of the voice within the black cave. Her eyes could hardly make out walls, let alone an Iridanian blending into the darkness.  
“Are you one of the four?” the voice intoned, echoing around.  
He was referring to one of the four Amoratti beyond the nine clans, scattered about at random. How did he know she was Amoratti? Had her family sent him for what she had done?  
A shadow flickered and she slashed at empty air, taking a step back. Where was he? Her fire had gone completely out hours ago, and the cold had seeped back into her bones with a vengeance. Flexing her hand, she tried to call fire to her palm, finding she couldn’t focus properly to do it.  
“You can relax,” the voice intoned softly. “I don’t intend to harm you.”  
The hells he didn’t. Why had he bothered to track her down then? Surely he hadn’t been out for a stroll in the pitch black.  
What had given her away? She’d covered her tracks as best she could. Who would have been out this far from anywhere to see them?  
Her mind shot to the thrum of power she’d felt earlier. Could it be?  
Cautiously, she reached out with her mind, searching for that thrum.  
It brushed against her own like velvet, and she recoiled.  
What was he? That was no normal power.  
“It’s okay,” the intruder said. “I’m not here to hurt you. I simply want to help. Velarian is no time to be out in the wilds.”  
Another shadow, another slash accented by a snarl.  
And she still cut air. Her mind was playing tricks on her. Ezra was sure she wasn’t even seeing these shadows. It was too dark. How could he see? Because he sure wasn’t talking to an animal. He knew what he was talking to.  
“I have a home,” he said. “A cabin just north of here. I’d rather you not freeze and die here, as your corpse would most definitely drive traders away.”  
Ezra didn’t trust that for one second. People didn’t just give out charity, she knew that better than any. She needed to see him, to know where he was. There was no way she was going to allow herself to be taken.  
Focusing her power, she tried to adjust her eyes so they would see in the dark. It was something she’d only managed once before, when an animal had tried to attack her. Somehow, for a few moments, the third eye that lingered just below the surface had allowed her to see shapes in the night. It had saved her life, though she still bore the scar of jagged teeth that had torn into her shoulder.  
“There’s food and water and a bed,” the man said softly, trying to lure her. “The grounds are warded against ill-willed intruders, if that makes you feel any better.”  
Why would that make her feel any better?  
Exhaling in frustration at her failure to see him, Ezra vowed to leave caves behind her once she got out of this mess. She’d never realized just how much they echoed, how sound bounced around aimlessly. It was a wondrous way to be killed. She was glad none of the winter roaming beasts had wandered in, as they would be able to track her by scent alone. Yes, this had been a mistake. But it had also been her only option if she wanted to live.  
Ezra flinched as wind brushed against her face, and she slashed again, staggering back.  
Right into a warm body.  
Yelping in shock, she immediately twisted away, but was caught by his arms.  
“Calm down,” the man said, and she reeled.  
Flipping the dagger in her hand, she jabbed backwards at him, refusing to be caught so easily. She felt the blade catch, sinking into the flesh of his arm. He hissed and grabbed her hand, slamming it against the wall of the cave, forcing her palm open to let the blade clatter to the floor.  
The warmth of blood seeped against her hand, his blood. It was a small achievement to have actually drawn blood with her panicked slash. But she was still caught.  
The man held her arms across her chest, immobilizing her from the waist up. Desperately, Ezra lifted her leg, kicking back at him, at the part of a man she knew would hurt. She merely connected with his thigh, and he growled at her in irritation, using his own foot to kick the back of her knee, forcing her down.  
The Amoratti power flared to life within her, raging to be set free. Even after an hour of toying with it, it was demanding to be released again.  
So she let it.  
It exploded outward in a blast of pure energy, uncontrolled and wild. It flared around them, and she fully expected to be wrenched from his grasp. Instead, to her utter shock and horror, he was untouched. An iridescent shield had formed around them, her power bouncing off it harmlessly.  
What was he? She had flung everything she had at him, and he’d been untouched. Even if she was untrained, the only thing that would be capable of routing that much Amoratti power was...  
Another Amoratti.  
Horror tore through her a moment before she heard him murmur one word, softly, sweetly.  
“Sleep,” the Iridanian said gently.  
And she was powerless against the command as foreign energy pushed into her senses. Her eyes drifted closed and she slumped in his arms.

***

Coming awake slowly, the first thing Ezra realized was that she was warm. Her toes and fingers actually had feeling in them that wasn’t numb pain. The second thing she noticed was the sound of a fire crackling softly somewhere close. Gods, but she wanted to curl up directly next to it and sleep for a week.  
But something tugged at the back of her mind. Safe. She felt... safe?  
Ezra bolted up immediately. She hadn’t been safe in well over a year, and that wasn’t about to change. Hand reaching for her knife, she pressed her lips together as she realized it was gone.  
Fuck.  
Where was her bag? Her gear? Her fucking boots were missing too. Where the hells was she?  
Standing, she examined her surroundings. A couch. She had been sleeping on a couch in a living area. A few feet behind her was the fire that still offered warmth and soothing sounds. The walls were wood, decorated sparsely with a handful of paintings, a small mirror, and curtains blocking out moonlight on the other side of the window. Bolting for it, she tried to lift the window, and found she couldn’t.  
Locked?  
She ran her fingers over it for a latch, and found nothing but a familiar brush of magic against her fingertips. Sealed in. Trapped.  
Honestly, she needed her boots before she went running out into the snow anyways.  
Something clinked in a room off the living area she stood in. Stiffening, Ezra turned slowly, watching a shadow shift in what had to be the kitchen. The being moved again and Ezra lunged for the fire poker, grabbing it and whipping around to face the being.  
An Iridian man looked at her evenly, two cups of something warm and sweet smelling in his hands. His hair was dark and curly, skin tawny, and eyes the alluring iridescent of the powerful race he heralded from.  
The fire poker glowed orange between them.  
The man quirked a brow at her. “I wasn’t sure if you liked marshmallows in your coco, so I only put a couple in.”  
He held one of the mugs out to her and she glared at him, too shocked and disoriented to allow his words to sink in.  
“Where am I?”  
“My cabin,” he said with a shrug. “Just a few miles north of where you were in that cave.”  
Ezra bit back a retort as she realized that didn’t help her. She hadn’t known where she was when she’d found the cave, the borders between territories only marked with soft thrums of power she couldn’t identify. Perhaps if her family had taught her more, she would know how to tell the difference. She knew Therik had been able to.  
Her grip had almost slackened on the poker as she thought of her brother, but she snapped her elbow back into place and levelled the glowing steel at the man.  
“I will not be kept here. Return my belongings and I’ll be gone within the hour,” she said firmly, staring down the metal rod at the man.  
He was tall and held a power in the way that he moved that she couldn’t describe. It was something she’d seen in her father’s warriors, in Therik and Uri as well. The stance and strength just below the skin, always ready. Even the simplest of movements, like the way he shrugged, set her on edge.  
“You aren’t leaving without eating and drinking something,” he said evenly.  
“Like I would accept food from a stranger,” Ezra snorted. “Forgive my wariness, but I have no idea of your intentions.”  
“Fair enough,” he said, setting the mugs down. “How shall I earn your trust?”  
Ezra’s mind raced. She couldn’t afford to turn down food, not with the way her belly had been clenching and aching the last few days after her food store had run out. And in the dead of Velarian she wouldn’t last another day without.  
Pressing her lips together for a moment, she sized him up. He was obviously older and had years of training on her. She wouldn’t be able to overpower him without an edge.  
“My knife,” she said firmly.  
He manifested it in his hand, holding the tip of the sheath between his fingers. “Perhaps you’ll do me a favour and not run me through with it?” he suggested, gingerly touching his fingers to the side she’d slashed him in.  
“Make no move toward me and you’ll be fine,” she said, reaching for it as he tilted it toward her.  
Honestly she was shocked he was willing to give her a weapon. Either he was extremely confident, or extremely stupid. Half expecting a trick, Ezra snatched it quickly, inspecting it to be sure it was hers and real before strapping it to her thigh.  
“Your name?” she asked, eyes never leaving him.  
He seemed to hesitate only a moment. “Noir.”  
“Noir what?”  
“Noir Veldvarian,” he said finally.  
The name made some memory perk up in her head, but she couldn’t place it. Perhaps he was a politician of sorts, or a trader her father dealt with. She couldn’t remember why she knew that name, but remained wary nonetheless.  
“What may I call you?”  
Ezra blanked. She hadn’t even spoken her name in over a year, and wondered what kind of weight it carried. Once or twice she had narrowly avoided her father’s men coming to retrieve her. And from the scar across her shoulder blade, narrowly missing the base of her wing, she was willing to bet there wasn’t an ‘alive and well’ added to her bounty. Surely word would have spread... but then, her father didn’t like his business spread about the lands. Perhaps he had kept his people tight lipped about the incident.  
She would give a fake name, she decided, straining to think of one on the spot. She said the first thing that came to mind, her mother’s middle name.  
“Lana.”  
Noir raised one brow, and she knew he’d seen through her lie immediately. Instead of calling her out for it, he shrugged and made himself comfortable in a chair. “Okay, Lana,” he said, drawing the name out. “Have some coco. Food’s on the way.”  
Still wary, Ezra noticed the smell of cooking meat over the scent of the coco. Her mouth watered embarrassingly. She couldn’t pass up food and drink, and she couldn’t get out on her own. So she would humour him, sit with him for a time, perhaps chat and drink.  
But she would not let him close. Would not eat or drink anything if he did not prove to her it was untainted.  
And after she had food in her system, she would find a way out.  
She waited for him to sit, then took the seat farthest away from him, keeping her hand on the hilt of her knife warily.  
“May I ask what you’re doing outside in the wilderness in the midst of Velarian?” Noir asked after a moment, glancing from the fire to her.  
“What are you doing out?” she retorted, eyeing him.  
A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he took a sip of his cocoa. “I was checking snares.”  
She snorted. “The only game you’ll find is the welaks that wandered too far from their pack.”  
She knew because that was all she’d been catching in the last while. Gods only knew how long.  
“Noted,” he said. “What happened to you to get caught out there?”  
Ezra stared at the mug in her hands, wondering if she could drink it. “I got separated from a trading group a while back.” A blatant lie. One she hoped he couldn’t detect. Even if he could, what business was it of his? As long as he didn’t know who she really was, it didn’t matter.  
“And they left you?”  
“Yes.”  
“Strange, I haven’t heard of any traders losing people lately,” he mused. “That kind of information always gets through to the Heart.”  
She blinked at the familiar name for the Iridanian capitol, the trading hub of the lands. Every territory had a handful of routes into the Heart, where goods and services were exchanged regularly.  
If she could get there, she could find room and board, maybe even start a life. She knew little of the lands, but she knew many flocked to the Heart for work.  
“Are you from the Heart?” she asked, keeping her voice even so as not to show her excitement.  
He nodded. “Absolutely. There’s no finer place.”  
Assuming he didn’t drug her and turn her in to her father, he would be the perfect way to safety. But something still bothered her about him.  
Worrying her lip, Ezra wondered if asking would somehow ruin her chances of getting to the Heart. But...  
“Are you,” she started, faltering for a moment when his eyes lifted back to hers. Those iridescent eyes held secrets. “Are you Amoratti?”  
“Why would you think that?” he said with a laugh. It was a good sound, actually. Rich and warm.  
“In the cave, you said...” she shook her head, averting her eyes.  
“I recognize the power, yes,” he said after a moment. “I’ve spent enough time around the Kilvarr to know it. But it’s really none of my business who you are or what you do with it, I suppose.”  
She stared at him out of the corner of her eyes. She wished she could tell if he was lying. She could always tell when Uri lied, despite his century of life. Sometimes she could even tell when Therik lied.  
Therik...  
Her fingers tightened on the mug as she tried not to think of her brother. But try as she might, she couldn’t banish the sight of all that blood.  
“How did you avoid my attack?” she asked suddenly, remembering through the fog how he hadn’t even seemed to flinch at what she had thrown at him.  
Noir stayed quiet for a moment before standing.  
Ezra tensed, ready to bolt from the chair if he made a move toward her.  
But he merely smiled and said, “You call that an attack?” He turned back to the kitchen to check on the food.  
She stared after him, not sure whether or not to be insulted or relieved.  
The next time he came into the room, it was with two heaping plates of food. He set them down on a side table by the couch and straightened, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants and cocking his head.  
“Now, I’m not sure how to convince you it isn’t drugged or poisoned. Any ideas?”  
She blinked at him. Honestly she was ready to risk it from how badly her mouth watered and the way her stomach cramped with need at the sight of eggs and meat and spices. Gods, she hadn’t had anything to make food taste better in months. The supplies she’d snagged from the hunting cabin before her father’s men had found it had run out long ago.  
“Pick your plate,” was all she said.  
Noir glanced at her before picking up a plate. He didn’t bother looking at her as he ate a piece of each item on the plate.  
Ezra watched him for a moment, and when she was satisfied he’d actually eaten the food, stood and plucked the plate from him, careful not to touch him at all as she did.  
“Fair enough,” Noir said and reached for the other one.  
He didn’t comment as she took a cautious bite, trying to find anything that could be considered odd about the food. But after one excruciatingly slow chew and swallow, she realized it had been too long since she’d had decent food that she wouldn’t even be able to tell. Her forkfuls became mountainous and rapid as she shovelled more into her mouth.  
Honestly, she was glad Noir didn’t say anything. She must have looked like some half starved beast, cleaning her plate in only a handful of moments.  
Her stomach constricted, not used to being so full, and she flinched at the sudden pain of it.  
Damn it...  
“More?” he offered, jerking his head to the kitchen.  
She didn’t miss the half hidden twist of amusement on his lips as he took a bite, watching her.  
Ezra wanted to be mad at him, and at the same time wondered if she could eat any more without vomiting. To distract herself from the sensation in her stomach, she chose to ask him more questions.  
“When are you going back to the Heart?”  
“In about a day,” Noir replied, exhaling a long breath. “I only have a handful more snares to check and then I need to head back. You want to come along? Maybe we can find your trading group and beat the hells out of them for leaving you.”  
Ezra smirked. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

***

She still didn’t trust him, but at least he hadn’t drugged her food or drink. When it came time to sleep, he offered her a room to herself, thank the gods. The first thing she did was check the lock on the thick wooden door, finding it held steady. And there was a bolt on the inside of the room, which would make it impossible for him to get in. At least, not without making a hell of a lot of noise. That gave her some reassurance. Turning and leaning against the door, she surveyed the room. Well, rooms, actually. The main room was the bedroom, with a large, comfortable looking bed with blankets and furs that she wanted desperately to sink into. The sparse moonlight outside was obscured by the deep purple curtains, just barely enough to see by. On either side was a nightstand, with candles that were already lit and old books stacked beside them as if waiting to be picked up. There was a dresser to the left, and a vanity against the same wall, neatly arranged with a brush, nail file, nail polish, and other beauty items. A soft rug lay beneath her feet, stretching to each side of the bed to avoid the morning chill of cold floors beneath feet. To the right was another door, and she could see the bathing room that lay beyond.  
Gods, she needed a bath. Desperately.  
Glancing back to the bed, she found her pack was set at the foot of it, her boots on the floor below. She moved forward, pawing through its contents quickly, making sure Noir hadn’t snuck something out and pocketed it while she wasn’t aware. But everything was there. She exhaled in relief.  
When she’d left, she hadn’t been able to pack anything. Everything she had aside from what she’d had on her person that day was found, stolen, or made. Last year when Velarian had come around, she’d spent most of it in one of her brothers hunting cabins, up until their father’s men had found it. It was a miracle she’d been able to slip out of there without detection, even if she’d been forced to leave Therik’s sword behind. One of the things she’d been able to pack before leaving was an old nightgown, though since she’d been without a roof over her head, she hadn’t been able to use it.  
Eyeing it now, she pressed her lips into a thin line and grabbed it from her pack. Even just one more bit of normalcy would help. If this was the end, if Noir had planned this, or planned to kill her while she slept...  
Then so be it.  
She was so tired. Tired of running, of living for a world that offered her no mercy.  
Padding to the bathing room, she found it to be already candle lit, as if the man had known she’d want to use it. There was a mirror on one wall, and a toilet against another. A large basin was sunk partially into the floor, and she could already imagine the warm water over her skin. Setting her clothing down on the counter top, she glanced up and froze.  
She hadn’t seen herself in close to a year. Had forgotten what she looked like, really. But now... now she was staring at a shell of herself. Her features were still recognizable— barely. Her white hair that she had shorn off for being in the way too much was limp and dull, curled around her neck where it had served as minimal insulation. Even the black section that had come from her mother seemed thinner and dull. Her eyes were hollow, the green and blue near lifeless and sick looking from the dark bruises beneath them. Her cheeks were sunken and her lips thinner than she remembered. As she stripped with shaking hands, she saw each and every rib, the sharp bones of her collar and hips. And while she’d never particularly cared much about her looks, she was horrified. She looked like a corpse.  
Felt like one as well.  
Swallowing hard, she turned away and to the basin, pulling the lever to spill heated water into the tub. It sloshed and swirled as she added a bit of soap to it, smelling of flowers and sunshine. She sank into the water and nearly wept at the heat surrounding her. The fire downstairs had been nice, but this, this was bliss. She washed herself thoroughly, wanting to scrub every last speck of dirt and sweat and blood from her skin in case she didn’t get a chance to ever again.  
It was over an hour later that she crawled out of the tub, the water having finally gone cold. She’d barely dried herself off and pulled on the nightgown before falling into the bed that smelled so wonderful and passing out.


	2. Chapter 2

Noir did not try to wake her the next day. Having seen herself in a mirror, it would be a wonder if he didn’t think her sick and in need of rest. She had no idea how long she’d stayed in bed, only that when she awoke it was to the wonderful smell of cooking meat, spices filling the air. They were so strong and wonderful not even the closed door could stop them.   
Pulling on her clothes and strapping her knife to her belt, Ezra dared to wander downstairs, still wary, but too tempted by the smells.  
She found Noir standing in the kitchen, cooking small slabs of meat and something green and spicy smelling.   
“You sleep like the dead,” he commented as she peered into the room.  
She blinked, thinking she had been quiet enough that he wouldn’t have heard her approach. But, she supposed as a hunter he had to have a keen sense of hearing and spatial awareness.   
“I’m practicing,” she said, surprising herself with the attempt at humour, even as her palm rested comfortingly on the knife at her side.   
Noir snorted and shifted, piling the contents of the pan onto two plates she hadn’t noticed, pulling another bottle of spice from the cupboard and sprinkling some on his plate.  
“Selona salt?” he asked, offering her the bottle.   
Curious, she reached and snagged it from his fingers without touching him, and sniffed, mouth watering as the scent hit her nose.   
Gingerly, she moved close enough to copy his motion of sprinkling it over the food, forcing herself not to flinch or tremble as he moved idly beside her, pouring a mug of something sweetly bitter.  
“Is that tomucha?” she gasped, eyes widening at the liquid she’d craved a sip of these past months.  
Noir raised a dark brow and pulled another mug down, silently pouring and pushing it toward her. “There’s no milk to lighten it—“  
Ezra shook her head as she pulled the mug to her and took a sip, closing her eyes at the taste of it, a mixture of sweet and bitter that sank into her stomach and warmed her from the inside out.   
Noir chuckled, taking his mug and plate and disappearing into the living room.   
Ezra paused, and could not help but mentally kick herself for her desperation and stupidity. For all she knew, he was lying to her. Giving her a false sense of calm to bait her into letting her guard down.   
Very much like he had just done.  
Steeling herself, she took a breath and followed him out, putting as much space between them as the seats would offer.  
He merely glanced at her before returning to his food.  
What he cooked was delicious, even if she didn’t know the name of the animal on her plate. He must have managed to catch a few small animals then, since he’d been out here.   
“When did you manage to catch this?” she asked after a few bites.   
“Yesterday, before we ran into each other.”  
Ran into. As if it had been a chance meeting on a city street.   
“I’m surprised you actually manage to get anything in Velarian,” she said, watching him lift a bite to his mouth.   
He lifted his gaze to hers for a moment before chewing and swallowing. “It is not so hard, if you have time and patience.”  
Not so easy when one was near starving. Hells, the sounds of her stomach demanding food had probably been enough to drive the prey away. Ezra tried not to shudder at the reminder. This still felt too good to be true. A dream.  
As if reading her mind, or maybe just the dread on her face, Noir sipped his tomucha and said, “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to go check my traps, and get everything stored and packed so we can head out as soon as we get up tomorrow.”  
Ezra pressed her lips together, and nodded, making a mental note to make sure her things were packed while he was gone. Even though she knew they already were.   
It crossed her mind that maybe he wouldn’t even come back for her. Maybe she could just stay here for the rest of the Dark Month, maybe the rest of the winter if he left her.   
Or maybe he worked for her father and would be returning with help to subdue her. Not that he’d needed it the first time.  
As Noir stood and drained the last of his tomucha, moving to place the plate in the kitchen, Ezra decided she would have a thorough search through the cabin while he was out. Just to see. If there were any red flags, she’d leave. Or maybe she wouldn’t. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her very soul. Perhaps she should just see what would become of her, whether she turned herself in, or took a chance with a stranger.   
She was tired. Oh so tired of running and hiding.   
Ezra closed her eyes, trying to summon any inkling of the future.   
Nothing.   
Biting back a hiss of frustration at a power that was near useless, she took another sip of tomucha.  
Noir returned a few minutes later, and she blinked at him. Gone were the loose, comfortable looking clothes he’d been wearing, in exchange for hunting leathers, lined with fur to keep out the cold. They hugged every inch of him, revealing even more muscle than she had previously thought. If that wasn’t the body of a warrior, she didn’t know what was.  
“I’ll be gone a couple hours,” Noir said, strapping a knife to his hip as he stepped into the living area. “There’s more food if you get hungry, books on the hallway shelf, and if you get really bored, you can start stacking the preserved meat into the pack in the kitchen. Good?”  
Ezra nodded, averting her eyes from his blade.   
Maybe he took her silence for worry, for nervousness, though it wouldn’t be far off. But he took a step closer as he slung a pack over his shoulder, crouching beside her chair to catch her eye. “I’ll be back. I won’t leave you like your group did.”  
Ezra opened her mouth to reply, but found no words, struck by the sincerity in his voice, the easy going smile.  
Slowly, she nodded again, and his smile turned into a charming grin as he stood.  
He strode for the door and disappeared through it with hardly a sound.   
Ezra waited ten, maybe fifteen minutes before she stood, and began going through the cabin. Starting in the living area, she opened every drawer, checked under and behind every piece of furniture, decoration, and rug she could find, doing the same in the kitchen, the hallway that led to a second door, up the stairs to check her own room and bathroom, and so on.  
After checking all the empty rooms, she hesitated in front of the one she knew Noir had slept in the night before. Was it really a violation of trust and privacy to want to be sure he wouldn’t kill her or send her back to Seveyan?   
Shaking her head, Ezra wrapped her fingers around the handle, twisting and pushing it open. It was a simple room, a mirror to her own and the others she had searched through. But where the other held only a few simple trinkets and personal items, Noir’s room looked lived in. There was a stack of books on the bedside table no doubt pulled from the shelf of them against one wall. Arranged neatly along another wall was a weapons rack, full of exquisite swords and daggers that had jewels and carvings inlaid within them, even a bow and quiver of arrows that looked to be made of something similar to glass. Where there would have been bare walls there were decorative scrolls depicting legends and creatures of old, or maps of the lands, each with a different style, obviously made by different artists over the years. The bed was basic, with blankets and furs similar to those in her room.   
Ezra hesitated again, flexing her fingers at her sides. She had the distinct feeling of intruding.   
Foolish.  
Why should she feel guilty about doing something to possibly save her life? Especially since it didn’t entail hurting anyone.  
No, she was just going to go through Noir’s things. That was all. She knew how easy it was for people to put up fronts to hide ulterior motives. And while she hadn’t heard from her father’s men in some time, she wasn’t about to risk being handed to them over something so trivial.   
So she knelt in front of the bedside table and pulled open the drawer. What she was looking for, she wasn’t entirely sure. Anything that could hint to Noir’s allegiances to her father, perhaps some kind of confirmation he was who he said he was. Anything to set her mind at ease.  
The drawer held nothing of the sort, only a mixture she assumed was to help dry skin, a notebook with only sketches of snares and other trapping methods, measurements for a small stable and a list of possible materials. A few unused candles and matches, a pen, a small sewing kit, and a few coins.  
How... normal.  
She turned to the dresser, worrying her lip for another few seconds before shaking her head and moving to pull the top drawer open. Underwear, socks, what looked like swim wear. The second drawer held shirts, the third pants and belts. But the fourth—  
Ezra froze as she took in the black leather. Fingers shaking, she lifted the clothing up, finding leathers not unlike what Noir had been wearing to go hunting.   
Unlike what he’d been wearing to go hunting, there was a crest over the heart of these leathers. It looked like a pair of wings over a crescent moon, the moon laying on its side, a word beneath it in a script she didn’t recognize.   
No, she did recognize it, she just didn’t understand it. The tongue of old had been lost centuries ago, and now only lived on in outdated history books and ancient libraries. The word was lost on her, but that crest...  
That was the Iridanian crest, belonging to the royal family.   
Suddenly, Noir’s story ran through her mind again.  
He was out hunting but had to return soon. When she’d asked him about the Amoratti power, he said he’d spent enough time around the Kilvarr to recognize it. And the crest.  
Noir must have belonged to the Guard. He answered to the Kilvarr.   
Was the Kilvarr aware of the Oraleus King’s hunt for her?   
Mouth suddenly dry, Ezra tried to swallow, tasting sand and the tang of bile at the back of her throat. If he knew who she was, if he took her to the Kilvarr and offered her up as a prize...  
Ezra swallowed and stood, kicking the drawer shut and striding for her room.   
No. He couldn’t know. Or could he?   
Hands shaking, she snatched her pack up and slung it over her shoulders, grabbing for her jacket as she moved for the stairs. She froze as she heard the cabin creak. Was the imagining the sound of snow crunching underfoot outside?   
She would not risk the Kilvarr’s wrath. Gods, how she wished she’d paid more attention to the politics and players during sessions with her tutor. She couldn’t even think of the Kilvarr’s name, let alone if he was known to be merciful.   
She waited a long moment, listening for the footsteps. There were none. Rushing to the door, she threw it open and bolted out, not bothering to close it in her fear. So much for being too tired to run anymore. But she wouldn’t risk it. Couldn’t. Therik hadn’t died for her to just lay down and accept fate. She’d survived this long, surely she could make it through the tail end of the Dark Month and then be back to hunting a decent meal.   
She conjured a tiny ball of flame and picked out his tracks with ease, and veered the opposite direction. Who knew how he was lighting his own way, but if it was even half as powerful as what he’d done earlier... she didn’t want to meet it fired against her.   
On and on she trudged through the snow, following animal trails when she could, veering off when she thought she heard anything heavy and on two legs. The only thing she couldn’t cover were her tracks. If he did come back looking for her before the snow filled them in, it would be perfectly traceable. Then again, if he was able to track in near darkness, her chances of getting away were slim to none. He’d already overpowered her once, even if she’d been surprised.   
After an hour trudging through the dark and cold, Ezra wondered if she’d let her paranoia get the better of her. The cold had seeped back into her bones, and after the warmth and full stomach of the night before, she was remembering how much she hated being out here. But what if Noir didn’t mean her harm? What if he was good?  
But what if he wasn’t?   
She stopped and wondered if she should go back. Maybe he’d already come back, gathered his things, and left. Sure, he’d promised not to leave her, but how could she trust him? People could show one face to the world until they wanted something for themselves. And who would bother tromping through the deep snows to find a girl who didn’t want to be found unless they got something out of it?   
Therik would have done it, her mind betrayed her, and she pressed her lips together hard.   
Her brother had been a good man. How many of those were left in the world?   
Maybe she was paranoid, but maybe she wasn’t. After all her thoughts of giving up, here she was, battling through the dark and cold. Were those the actions of someone who’d given up?  
The trees began thickening as she carried on, drifting further into their depths as they reached out branches that looked like gnarled limbs. Once she disappeared within, it would be even harder to see. Gods, how she wished she’d had more training than the occasional hour spent hiding while Therik was taught. He’d always tried to help her, him and Uri both. But she’d never truly gotten the hang of her base powers, let alone the mass of the Amoratti power. At least out here she didn’t have to worry about hurting anything that didn’t already want to hurt her first.   
All rational thought left her mind as she heard something behind her. Whirling, she strained her eyes against the near dark, trying to pick out a moving shape against the endless snow. Her hands warmed with a power she couldn’t control, and she tucked them into her pockets. In the time it took her to realize she couldn’t see or hear anything anymore, a handful of minutes had passed. Pressing her lips together, she swept her gaze across the expanse once more before turning back to the forest sprawling before her.   
A dark shape dropped down directly in front of her, not three feet separating them. Sucking in a sharp breath of surprise, Ezra reached for her dagger, snatching it free of the sheath as the figure rose before her.  
Noir straightened up, tucking his wings away and taking her in. “It’s not safe out here, Lana. You of all people should know that.”  
“I haven’t survived this long on pure luck,” she snapped back, hand tightening on her dagger. “Believe it or not, I can take care of myself.”  
Noir took a step forward, and Ezra lifted the dagger between them. He paused, looking surprised and confused as he lifted his hands slowly, palms out in a calming gesture that truly was not calming to her. How much power did he hold in those hands? She knew she hadn’t imagined it in the cave, no matter how hard he deflected. But magic was like a muscle. He wasn’t necessarily Amoratti just because he was powerful. Ezra didn’t have enough experience to say without a doubt if he was or wasn’t. Regardless, he seemed to have been trained well if he was able to fend off an Amoratti attack, no matter how inexperienced the attacker. Caution was her friend here.  
Steeling herself, Ezra curled her lip and waved the dagger at him again, closer than before. “Why are you following me?”  
“What do you mean why?” he said, incredulous. “Because it’s the middle of Velarian and you’re half starved and abandoned.”  
“You know nothing,” she snapped, ignoring the pang of truth in her chest as her fingers tightened on the blade.   
He took a step forward, still holding his hands up. “I know the very thought of food makes your stomach cramp up horribly, and your mouth water uncontrollably.” Another daring step. “I know that whatever happened to you is a sore subject, and I won’t push you to tell me more. But I also know these woods and Velarian are a deadly combination. If you refuse to allow me to help you… you could very well die out here. Alone. Without a soul to know or mourn you.”  
Ezra’s hand shook slightly, and she took a step back as he took another forward. “You don’t know me.”  
“No,” he said, stopping a few feet away, meeting her gaze in the dim light. “But for the ones I’ve failed to save in the past, I’d like to help.”  
Curling her lip, Ezra summoned a fierceness she didn’t feel. “So I’m penance for some great crime you’ve committed?”  
She could have sworn hurt flashed across his face, but it was too dark to be certain.   
She had to make him go away, had to throw him off somehow. Without knowing who he was or where his loyalties lay, she would have no peace of mind. If she had to hurt him to make him go away, she would.   
Noir hesitated a long moment before he finally spoke again, voice softer than before. “Did your mother ever read you stories when you were little? Ones with heroes and villains and grand adventures?”  
She said nothing.  
He laughed softly, and she had the distinct feeling it was at himself. “I always wanted to be a hero in one of those stories. But so many things I’ve done with good intentions haven’t turned out the way I’d thought they would. All I’m asking is for a chance to finally get something right.”  
Ezra stared at him, wishing she could see on his face the raw emotion she could hear in his voice. She was well aware of a person’s capability to act, but there was something in his voice that made her pause.  
She heard the branch creak a second before a large white shape appeared, launching from the tree behind Noir onto his back. Somehow, he managed to twist his body, raising an arm to protect his neck as the big animal’s full weight forced him off balance and face first into the snow with the sound of ice cracking. The Coravir cat looked up at her with silver eyes, decided she wasn’t a threat, and went back to trying to claw Noir apart, sinking its claws into his back to shred the leather and get to the meat inside.   
Ezra turned, ready to bolt while Noir was occupied. Until she saw he wasn’t fighting back. Why wasn’t he fighting? With the power he’d used in the cave, she knew he was more than capable. So why the fuck was he just laying there?  
Gods, he isn’t even conscious, she realized. He’d hit hit head too hard against the ice when he’d gone down. And now the big cat was slicing open his back, shredding those black wings of his like it was nothing. As the cat cut deep into his back, Noir let out a cry of pain, arms swinging hopelessly. Why wasn’t he using his power?  
It wasn’t her problem. Ezra ran.  
It didn’t matter he’d fed her, given her a warm place to sleep. It didn’t.   
Behind her, the sounds of flesh tearing was louder than the crunch of snow beneath her boots. Noir let out another noise, what could have been a whimper or a cry for help.   
It. Didn’t. Matter.  
Ezra stopped, cursing herself for her stupidity.  
It was a lie. It did matter. The only one to show her kindness in a godsdamned year, and she was leaving him.   
“Fuck,” she snarled at herself.  
And turned around.   
A weak flare of power assaulted her senses, a force whipping out, trying to shove the cat off. But the attack was too clumsy, the beast's claws sunk in too deep to be bothered.   
With no idea how to use the Amoratti power without also hitting Noir, Ezra held her knife before her, and lunged. The big cat was too intent on its kill to notice her return, nor did it notice her movements until she’d wrapped an arm around its neck, and sank her dagger into its throat. With a strangled, gurgling snarl, the Coravir cat released Noir, staggering back and slashing wildly, trying to reach her with claws or teeth. Pain lanced across Ezra’s forearm as the cat managed to hilt its head far enough to sink teeth through her clothing, puncturing skin. But it was a weak grip, one she used to her advantage, plunging the knife into its neck again. The teeth in her arm sank deeper as the cat raged, twisting in her embrace, loosening her grip. Her flesh tore as the cat forced its teeth free, writhing until it forced her to release it.   
Both of them bleeding, woman and cat faced off in the glittering snow. The cat was bleeding profusely, but refused to go down as she had counted on. Honestly, she hadn’t expected to come across one so bold, and hadn’t in her time out in the wilds. Then again, it looked as skinny and weak as she did, each rib showing in the pale light, more loose skin than meat on its bones. In a way, they weren’t so different; two animals just trying to live. But there was so much more to living than simply surviving.   
Maybe that was why Ezra threw herself in front of the cat as it lunged again for Noir, probably intending on leaving her and dragging him off for a nice meal. Instead of sinking teeth into one of his limbs to drag him, the razor sharp teeth closed around Ezra’s hand.  
The cat went limp as the dagger in her hand went through its mouth, it’s brain, and out the back of its skull with a sickening crunch. The weight of the beast collapsed atop her, driving her into the snow. For a horrifying moment, she thought it was still alive as it twitched and gurgled above her. But as the blood poured from its mouth down her arm, she realized it was the final spasms of a dead thing. It took every last ounce of her strength to push it off, to shimmy out from beneath it, snow and ice digging into her skin, her body, down the back of her coat. She barely felt the cold next to the throbbing pain of her injuries. Her forearm had taken the brunt of the damage, two separate bites layering over one another to paint her entire arm red. As the blood poured onto the snow, she turned her attention to Noir. He was laying face down in the snow, his back and wings ravaged.   
She couldn’t leave him like that.   
Swallowing her fear of being found, Ezra took a moment to wrap the only scrap of fabric she could spare around her bleeding arm. And as she knotted the nightgown over her injuries, as she sank her teeth into her lip at the pain, she realized that the pain meant she was alive. She was still alive. She was still breathing.   
Ezra bent and began the daunting task of carrying Noir back to the cabin.


	3. Chapter 3

Ezra didn’t care to think what Noir thought of her when he awoke to a knife against his throat. She’d been able to tell he was waking up when his breathing had shifted and his hands had flexed. Now, pressing the tip of her dagger to his throat, she stared down at him where he lay on his side as he blinked groggy iridescent eyes up at her.   
He swallowed, throat bobbing beneath the tip of the blade. “I take it you’re the only reason I’m not cat shit right now?”  
So he did remember.   
Ezra raised one brow at him. “You could say that. Why didn’t you fight back?”  
Noir closed his eyes, rubbed his face. His hand shook slightly. “I didn’t… I couldn’t—“  
“Don’t give me that shit,” she growled. “I know you can. I didn’t imagine what happened in the cave.”  
He shook his head despite the blade to his throat. “That’s not what I meant. I can, I have. I just… couldn’t. All I knew was something was ripping my back apart and then my head hurt so bad I couldn’t even think of how to use my power.”   
There was something in his voice that made her pause and wonder why she was pressing a dagger into his throat. He sounded so… scared. As if his lack of reaction, of power, had truly terrified him. She’d known that fear far too often. Maybe that was why she stepped back, taking her dagger with her as she sat in the chair across from the couch and raking a hand through her hair.   
For a moment the only sound was the fire crackling in the hearth, casting flickering light across the room.   
Slowly, painfully, Noir managed to sit up, swinging his obnoxiously long legs over the edge of the couch. He winced, gingerly reaching over his shoulder to find the thick wrap of bandages Ezra had bound around his torso. It had been tricky to bind his wings, but since her people had wings of their own, she’d learned from her one class in healing how to do it. Honestly, she’d been shocked she’d even remembered it.   
As his fingers brushed the bandage, she could have sworn his arm shimmered. Before she could ask, he broke her attention, glancing back up at her. “Thanks for not letting me bleed out.”  
Ezra exhaled, avoiding his gaze. And the sight of all those muscles. No man had any business looking that good without a shirt. It was… distracting. The scar over his heart had made her pause. It was the size of a child’s hand, imprinted in spotty black on his chest, the only mark of its kind on what she’d seen of his body. Maybe he had a child. But it didn’t appear to be a tattoo. It looked more like a brand.   
He seemed to realize where he was then, looking around the room with a mixture of shock and confusion on his face. “How did we get back here?”  
Needing something to do, Ezra stood and threw another log on the fire. “I carried you. Well, dragged you,” she muttered.  
The shock deepened. “You…” His brow furrowed as he trailed off. “You’re tiny. How’d you manage…”  
Ezra watched as he broke off, shaking his head. He pressed a hand to his face, rubbing his eyes. Leaning against the wall by the window, she crossed her arms, staring into the fire.  
“Were you serious about taking me to the Heart?” she asked finally, forcing the words out.   
Noir dropped his hands to his lap and looked at her, open and with an honesty she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen on anyone’s face. “Yes. I was serious before, and I’m serious now. I owe you my life, Lana. Anything you want, it’s yours.”  
Did that include a full pardon? She didn’t dare ask. Putting her past behind her and making a new life was the way to go. A new life with a new name in a new territory where no one had ever heard of Ezramia Styxan.   
The boldness she forced into her voice was faked, a front barely hiding the roiling emotions in her gut as she contemplated finally being free, of being safe at last. “Then I want to go to the Heart. I want to find a place to live, and a job.”  
“All of that can be arranged,” Noir said, nodding. “You have my word.”  
“In that case,” Ezra said, pushing off the wall and striding across the room. “I’m going to bed.”  
She said nothing more, climbing the stairs until she reached the room he’d given her the night before. Closing the door, she exhaled and leaned against it. A grin spread across her face, foreign and wild. She’d done it. No more would she have to run, no more would she fear for every second of her life. She could be safe.   
Safe.  
The mere thought made her stomach twist in excitement and disbelief. 

***

Trying to find a position on the couch that didn’t make his back and wings ache, Noir ground his teeth as he stared into the fire. He hated lying in general, let alone to a woman who’d saved his life. He could not promise her the things he had, not with what he knew was looming on the horizon. But there was too much at stake not to. He had to keep the act up, had to make her believe him and what he offered. Whoever she was, she’d already suffered her fair share, he could see it in her eyes, in the way she moved, ready to bolt at any sign of danger or betrayal. And he would betray her, the woman he owed his life to. But it was for the good of all.   
For the good of all.  
That was what he kept telling himself as the image of those mismatched eyes flashed across his mind. 

***

As it turned out, Noir healed incredibly fast. It had been about a day as far as she could tell, and already the wounds on his back were beginning to knit closed. She watched his muscles tense as she poured alcohol onto his back where he sat at the table, ignoring his hiss of pain and the sound of the excess drops hitting the floor. He jerked his arm, a spasm of pain no doubt, and she jumped back, heart pounding. Though she needed him to take her to the Heart, she didn’t like being so close to him. Even though he hadn’t done anything to harm her or make her doubt him, she didn’t trust him. Couldn’t trust him.   
She hadn’t even wanted to get close enough to change the bandages for him. The only thing that had convinced her to was the fact that she needed him alive to take her to the Heart. There was no way she’d be able to make it on her own. And he had supplies. She had no choice but to trust him. That didn’t mean she could keep some distance between them.  
“Did you get all your snares?” Ezra asked, thinking of the supplies. He probably hadn’t brought enough for two people, which would mean they would be relying on whatever he’d managed to catch.  
“Yes,” he said, lifting his arms to allow her to begin wrapping his wounds again. “I came back to pack them and you were gone. Why did you leave?”  
Fuck. She’d been hoping he wouldn’t ask, didn’t think she could make up a convincing enough story to justify running out in the middle of the Dark Month. So she gave him the truth. Or, at least, one version of it.  
“I got spooked,” she admitted. “I haven’t seen another person in a while and my fear got the better of me.”   
To her surprise, he didn’t question her, didn’t prod or demand answers. He simply nodded, dropping his hands as she tied the bandage off.   
“The dark will do that to a person,” he said too softly.   
Tossing his shirt to him, Ezra backed up, preferring space between them. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound as if you’re afraid of the dark.”  
He blew breath out his nose. “Anyone who isn’t has never met the things that hide within it.”  
It struck Ezra as odd that a soldier could be afraid of anything. At least, she assumed he was a soldier, from the Iridanian crested leathers she’d found. Therik had never feared, nor had Uri. Both were unshakable, stalwart. Warriors to their core.   
Look where that landed Therik.  
Ezra desperately wished she could turn her internal voice off. All it did was dredge up worries, doubts, and fear. She always gave in to that voice, that constant nagging voice that told her she wasn’t good enough, that she was worthless, that she didn’t deserve to live.   
And yet she was still here. In this cabin with a man who could have just as many secrets as she did. What had he seen in his life that there was such weariness in his face? He’d spoken of wanting to be a hero. She wasn’t sure how much of that had been bullshit to calm her down and how much was true, but the words had stayed with her.   
There was one thing she had to know.  
“Do you work at the Iridanian palace?”  
Noir stiffened slightly, maybe from surprise, maybe from pain, but it was gone in a second. “You could say that.”  
Ezra raised a brow, resisting the urge to reach for her dagger. She had to play nice, and making him think she’d pull a weapon on him at any given second probably wasn’t the best way to earn his trust.   
Glancing sideways and noticing the look on her face as he finished sliding his wings into the slits along the back of his shirt, he continued on. “Yes, I work in the palace. I’m kind of… an advisor to the Kilvarr.”  
She hadn’t missed the fact that he’d kept the mark on his chest covered as much as possible, turning away from her whenever her eyes landed on it.   
“Kind of?”  
“It’s unofficial,” he explained, sighing. “I don’t actually have the title, but he listens to me for the most part.”  
“I would think the Kilvarr has an entire team of advisors,” Ezra said.  
Noir snorted. “Oh, he does. Most of them are know-it-all pricks who don’t understand the first thing about the job.” He seemed to catch himself, closing his mouth and averting his gaze. “Anyways, are you hungry?”  
Though she hadn’t been around people in a long time, Ezra knew the subject change wasn’t smooth. But she also knew not to push.   
“I could eat,” she replied instead. 

***

Two days later, Noir was healed enough to travel. Or so he claimed. Though he healed incredibly fast, there were still deep gouges in his back, and she could only guess at what was still damaged inside. Her only real clue he was still hurting was when he shrugged on his pack, pulling the straps over his head and clipping them beneath his arms, and visibly flinched away from the touch of it. He hadn’t protested when she’d wordlessly opened his pack and transferred some of his supplies and food to her own pack, taking anything heavy she could stuff inside. She told herself it was as much to help herself than it was him.  
Noir offered a smile in thanks, and she was struck by how that little movement transformed his face from strong and serious to almost boyish and kind.   
Looking away, she moved to look around the cabin for any last supplies.   
“Who takes care of this place when no one is here?” she asked, wondering if she could find her way back here if something went wrong in the Heart.   
“It’s not often no one is here, so it really doesn’t need much caring for,” Noir said. Seeing the confusion on her face, he continued. “The Kilvarr’s advisors sometimes need time to unwind. We all take turns using it.”  
Well that ruled out coming back. Her options truly were limited. Starving in the dark really didn’t seem like the way to go.   
Taking a breath, Ezra hooked her thumbs under the straps of her pack, alleviating a tiny amount of weight. “Ready?”  
Flashing an irritatingly charming smile, Noir nodded, blowing out the last three candles in the cabin and heading toward the door. Ezra followed him closely, stepping aside to let him lock the door. The lack of light was jarring, the reality of the world outside the cabin crashing in. The darkness, though wide and open, was almost smothering with its presence, threatening to consume her once more. How easy would it be to get lost out in that hungry everlasting night?   
There was a roaring in her ears, the sound of gasping. It was all so distant as she heard the lock click behind her. Instead of being locked in, she was locked out of the only haven she’d found in months.  
A soft light appeared beside her, and she realized it was her breathing she was hearing, her own rising panic in her ears. The light grew, and she turned her head to look. Noir stood there, towering above her with a soft white light in his palm.   
“It doesn’t make one weak, to be afraid of the unknown,” he said gently, lifting the light over his head where it hovered, casting its light across the sparkling snow.   
With the light bathing them in its glow, Ezra felt her panic subside. Though her heart was still pounding, it was beginning to slow as she stared at the light. It was soft, gentle, a perfect ball.   
“Show me how to do that,” she said before she could stop her mouth.  
Noir smiled, looking out toward the barely visible trail. “Can you walk and learn at the same time?”  
Nodding, Ezra stepped off the porch and followed him into the unknown.


	4. Chapter 4

The spy watched the pair go, waiting in the tree above as they passed beneath. If the girl had been alone, it would have been a simple task to subdue her, untrained as she was, and return her to the Oraleus king. But the man that was with her… between the two of them, they would overpower the spy. There would be no chance of capture, no chance of victory. And the spy, hidden within the embrace of the tree, needed a victory. They knew it would take the pair a week of hard travel through the darkness to make it to the Heart, which was no doubt their destination.   
Alive, had been the Oraleus king’s demand when he’d sent them to retrieve her. Though he would not indulge any further information, it was not her place to ask why he cared so much about the fate of the young woman. What had she done to earn his wrath? One would think as a spy, the truth wouldn’t be hard to find. But they didn’t dare overstep with the king. Not when he could end their life and any hope of happiness with one move. It was a risk not worth the outcome.   
So the spy waited for them to pass, to disappear into the night with only a tiny orb hovering above them to light the way. And when they were out of sight, the spy headed to report to the king. 

***

Izola Nampatra watched as the king’s spy stalked into the throne room, looking on in disdain at the dirt and mud the dark cloaked figure tracked into the pristine room in their wake. She’d not formally met this spy, and had little inclination to do so. Seveyan had many more competent spies, but none so powerful as the one who came to a stop before him, hesitating a second too long before lowering to one knee and bowing their head.   
“I trust by your empty handed return,” Seveyan said slowly, fingers drumming on the arm of his All-Seeing throne with its great silver eye set into the crystal just above his head, “that you bring something of equal importance to me.”  
It was not a question.   
Beneath their hood, Izola could see the hint of skin as their lips curled into what could only be called a snarl. “If you could call the fact that she now travels with another important, then yes.”  
Izola narrowed her eyes, the great snake, Natah, draped around her shoulders hissing as it sensed her displeasure. She took a step forward from where she stood beside the king, lips pulling back as she prepared to rip into the spy. Seveyan halted her by merely holding up one hand, a silent signal. Biting her tongue, she averted her glare to the floor. No one could get away with speaking to the king like that. She would not tolerate it.  
King Seveyan’s voice was cold, filled with dark amusement. “You think to tell me you, with your own level of power, are cowed by the simple fact she now has a companion?”  
The spy tilted their head, and their lips twisted into a wicked smirk. “When her companion is Noir Veldvarian, yes.”  
The amusement vanished from Seveyan’s face. His hands rested on the arms of the throne, his nails scraping against the crystal. Though he was not a young man, he’d only recently begun showing his age as his immortal flame began to dwindle. With white hair and mismatched blue and green eyes that were purely hereditary in the Whytcliff line, he could have been handsome given the right angles and lighting. Maybe he had truly been handsome when he’d been younger, before whatever he had witnessed in life had twisted him. In recent months, though, anger had begun growing within him. Anger was the poison that slowly ate a person from the inside out. And Seveyan was incredibly sick with it. True amusement had never crossed his face, only the mockery of such an emotion. His smiles, cruel, wicked things, were reserved only for the twisted things he found entertaining. And by his expression, this was not one of them.  
“What would he be doing with her?” Seveyan asked, voice clipped.   
“Beats the fuck out of me,” the spy said, shrugging. “But you know I can’t touch Noir. Unless you want to start a war.”  
Leaning back in his throne, Seveyan shook his head in disgust, bringing his arm up to rest his chin on, growling, “This land could do with a war.”  
The spy said nothing. Izola glanced between them, waiting. After a long moment, Seveyan spoke again.  
“Go home,” he commanded, looking suddenly bored.  
The spy jerked their head up. “But what of our deal?”  
Seveyan’s eyes snapped toward the cloaked figure, anger radiating off him as he snarled, “Did you bring me the girl? No. You did not uphold your end of the bargain, and neither shall I. You want something, I need something in return. That’s how this arrangement of ours works. Now go, before I change my mind and send you to the dungeons. They’ve missed you down there.”  
Izola could see the war within the spy, the anger, the need to lash out and the sense to hold back, to avoid further punishment. Their head bowed in a quick nod, and they rose in one fluid motion, turning on their heel and stalking from the room, cloak billowing behind.   
Idly, she stroked the snake tangling itself in her blonde curls, watching the spy disappear into the darkness once more. “The mouth on that one is atrocious.”  
Seveyan snorted, as close to a laugh as he ever managed. “That it is, darling. But a foul tongue is the least of our troubles with that one, though I can’t count the times I’ve considered having it cut out.”  
In all honesty, Izola would have done it ages ago, had the welp thought to speak to her in such a way.   
“What do we do about Veldvarian?” Izola asked, turning her attention back to the king.  
“For now, nothing,” Seveyan sighed. “He’ll lead her into Iridanian territory where it is much easier for a spy to infiltrate without seeming suspicious. From there, I’m not yet sure how I’d like to get her back. Perhaps I’ll have to send someone to… convince her.”  
Izola could almost see the gears turning in that malicious mind of his, the plan taking shape. She smiled, lifting her hand to gently drift down his arm.   
“I know whatever you come up with will be perfect, my king.”  
His eyes shifted over to her, and she recognized the familiar hunger within them. Tilting her head, she smiled just for him, a promise of mischief, if he so desired it. It took him no less than five seconds to stand and tell his guards not to bother him until he returned. And as he hooked his arm within hers, she leaned her head against his shoulder, smile still curling her lips. This was how she would win the king. This was how she would make her way to the throne, the seat of power. Izola had always been ambitious, and Seveyan was the perfect path to finally achieving her goals. 

***

Hours later, after she’d washed the stink of the king off her body, Izola made her way through the castle, Natah around her neck craning into her touch. No guard dared to stop her, as she’d been given explicit permission from the king to wander anywhere she pleased. If all she had to do was sleep with the man to gain free reign of the castle’s many wings, libraries, and secrets, it was a sacrifice she was willing to make. Of course, it was not an arrangement his wife liked, but the queen had been mysteriously ill for some time now, secluded in her chambers where no visitors were allowed. She had a horrendous wasting disease that was rapidly eating away at her once gorgeous body, Izola told any who questioned. As a rare found healer in a world of warriors, what she said was truth, especially after the king and his guards had watched her miraculously heal a child of a guard who was so sick she could not even open her eyes, let alone speak or stand. What they hadn’t realized was Izola had slipped the child a poison beforehand, leaving her so near death it was a miracle in its own right the antidote Izola had then poured into the child’s mouth had even worked in time. But that was the folly of men, of the king that had seen only what she wanted him to while her sleight of hand had done the true magic. He had immediately seen her as an asset, taking her in off the street and giving her a room and free reign of the castle. Foolish man. It was a wonder he’d ruled this long, and even that had been tenuous. Before his younger brother, Hektaer, had died, it had been him, not Seveyan that had been chosen for the throne. Hektaer had been more popular with the people, kinder, lenient. He’d also possessed Amoratti power, which had made him the more likely candidate for the throne in the first place. His death had been a shock to all when his head had been sent to the castles front gates. The bigger shock was that the Amoratti power he’d possessed had somehow been passed on to his nephew, Seveyan’s son Therik. The boy had been accounted for the entire day leading up to the slaying of his uncle, so the only other way he could have gotten the power other than killing the man himself was if it had been willed to him. Yet another slap to Seveyan’s face as well as his ego.   
Izola turned down a narrow passageway, one of the many near hidden throughout the castle, it led to a servants passage hidden between the walls, so they could move about unseen by any. The one Izola headed for was to an ancient wing that had collapsed a century ago and never been rebuilt. The servants knew this, though none of them bothered to check it. If they had, they would have found a rather large section had survived, hidden beneath the mountain the castle was built into. With a few quick twists and turns, Izola came face to face with a door, a mark painted in blood onto the surface of the ancient wood. Tracing her index and middle finger across the design, it lit up in a gently glowing yellow. A second later, a lock clicked, and the heavy door swung open to reveal a large chamber.   
Two heads swung around to look at her from where they sat huddled around a tiny fire, both gaunt and sickly looking, with hollowed eyes filled with hunger.  
Izola frowned. “How many times have I told you no fires during the waking hours?”  
Tal, the bolder of the two glanced between Izola and the fire. “It’s Velarian,” she said, voice as rough as bark. “No one will see the smoke.”  
Glaring at the insolence, Izola strode across the musty room, toward their merger heat source. In one motion, she flicked her hand toward the fire, and it huffed out as if it had never been, smothered completely until not even an ember remained. She turned her rage on them, all the irritations of the day snapping with this final nudge. “But they will smell it coming from a place it should not be, and they will investigate. If you two would just listen when I speak, we’d be further along by now.”  
Tal narrowed her brown eyes, and it was all Izola could do not to slap her for it as she spoke, “If we listened to you all the time, our heads would be filled with the ramblings of a whore.”  
The more timid of the two, Olka, grabbed Tal’s arm, hissing a warning to her, eyes shooting between her and Izola.   
Tal shook Olka off roughly, turning her glare back on Izola. “If we simply focused on what really mattered, our Saviour would already be among us. Instead, we waste our time communing with the Lost as if they have anything other than bloodlust on their minds.”  
Instead of slapping her, or raking her nails down the idiot's face until her eyes no longer worked, Izola let out a laugh, long and colder than the ice of Beral.   
There were many sounds in the world that signaled danger. The laugh Izola gave was one of them.  
Seeming to realize this, Tal clamped her mouth shut, turning her eyes to the ground even as the air crackled with Izola’s rage.   
“I do,” Izola said slowly, dangerously, “what I must. A simpleminded wretch like you has no hope to understand the grand nature of what I’ve set in motion. You are merely a pawn in the plan, and you should be grateful to be that much.” The wrath in her voice faded, and Izola’s face turned pleasant once more, the perfect picture of a well behaved woman. “Remember, darling, that you can be replaced. This early in gathering the pieces, it is of no consequence to me if one needs to be changed. It happens all the time in building, one rotten board or cracked stone simply will not do. It weakens the entire structure, a defect that must be purged. So tell me, Tal.”   
Izola turned cold eyes to Tal, her smile as venomous as the snake that adorned her shoulders. “Are you a defect?”  
The woman, dirty and pale, shook her head, staring at the debris covered floor. Izola stepped closer, Natah hissing as she stretched toward Tal menacingly, fangs bared. Olka looked between them in horror, raw fear painting her cherub like face.   
After a moment, Izola pulled back, looking pleasant once more. “Now that that bit of ugliness is dealt with, what progress have you made?”  
When Tal stood immobile for a second too long, Olka took the lead, an interesting change in the dynamic between the two.   
“Unfortunately, not much, miss,” Olka said quickly, voice trembling as she fidgeted with her hands. “The Lost are rather uncooperative. They can’t even form full sentences for the most part, let alone tell us where their old band now resides. Or if they’re even still alive, for that matter.”  
Tearing her attention away from the way Olka had taken charge, Izola frowned. She hadn’t expected the Lost to be so irritating. Or stupid, for that matter. Once powerful mages, the Lost were those who’d turned to the darker side of magic, the side that attracted the demons of the world. Embracing absolute power came at a cost, their minds being the most common casualty as demons fed off their very essence. But as only the Lost might recognize their former fellow mages, Izola needed them to cooperate. It was a wonder she’d already found two functioning mages in a world where they were looked down upon and feared so greatly they’d been hunted to near extinction. Of course, Tal was toeing a thin line, stomping all over Izola’s patience until it was all she could do not to kill the woman right then and there. She’d been serious when she’d threatened to replace Tal, though she’d lied about how easy it would be. In the end, Izola needed these two useless wretches. At least for now.  
Stroking the snake, she hummed softly to herself. “Keep trying. There’s bound to be some part of them left in there. If I have to tear it out myself, I will. But that’s what I have you two for, now isn’t it?”  
As if she would ever allow herself to be used as bait for the Lost. There was a reason Tal and Olka looked so sickly, and it wasn’t entirely from lack of food and bathing. To even be in the presence of one of the Lost was to feed them with your own energy. It was why Izola refused to come down here for more than a few minutes at a time, lest she be forced to share her own power. The fate of the Lost was not one she wished to endure, which was why she needed Tal and Olka to commune with them. The sooner she could track down more untainted mages, the sooner she could bring their Saviour to the land.   
“How are things progressing with the king?” Olka asked, eager to fill the sudden silence.   
The serpent around her neck hissed, mirroring Izola’s own displeasure. “A stubborn beast of a man, but that’s to be expected when his ego takes up the entire room. He’s still quite opposed to mages even existing, but if I can find the right opportunity to present us as useful rather than a threat…”   
“I’m sure you’ll think of something, miss,” Olka said, a forced smile lifting her lips.   
Izola made a noise of dismissal. “Go back to your work. I’ll bring you what scraps I can tomorrow.”  
Tal looked as if she wanted to argue, and Izola stared her down, a silent dare. To her delight, the woman backed down. Smiling to herself, Izola strode for the exit, weaving her way back to the livelier parts of the castle, ignoring the stench and groans of the Lost locked in the pit on the far side of the room.   
She would find a way to make the king send for mages. And then she would recruit them to her cause. There was not a soul who could stand in the path she would carve, the path to power. One way or another, Izola would wear a crown, Saviour or no.


	5. Chapter 5

During the week of hard travel, Noir kept their path illuminated with that soft glowing light. When he grew tired, Ezra took over for a time, in much smaller amounts than he, but she had finally learned something, could finally make it last more than a few minutes. He’d been a patient teacher, spending hours instructing her on what should have been so simple a task, a child could have done it. She suspected he faked exhaustion as a way to encourage her to make the light. And since she couldn’t stand the darkness… well, it was a good motivator, as she couldn’t very well call bullshit on him about his own power.   
Passing by yet another copse of trees, Ezra wondered how the fuck he could even tell where they were going. Every tree, every mound of snow, every dim outline of a mountain all looked the same to her. Whatever path he followed was invisible to her eyes and covered in six inches of snow, which wasn’t bad compared to the literal feet she’d spent the last couple months trudging through. The darkness was beginning to lighten, though it often pressed in on her chest like a massive beast, just waiting to suck the air from her lungs. Velarian was coming to an end.   
Noir seemed to realize it as well, breaking the silence for the first time in hours. “Just in time. We’ll be able to see the Heart all lit up.”  
Glancing sideways at him, Ezra flexed her hands in her gloves. She’d given up lighting the way an hour ago, or maybe hours, it was hard to tell when the sky was constantly black. Still, she could feel the power growing restless again, as if it liked being free, being expended. Noir turned a smile toward her, and she looked away, unwilling to encourage more of a connection. She didn’t want friends, she didn’t want anyone looking her way. Conversation had been lacking, not by any fault of Noir’s, he’d tried. Many times. But for all his attempts, he’d never pried into her past, and she wondered if her disdain on the subject was written so obviously on her face. He’d asked once more about her trading group, and when she’d shut the conversation down, he’d seemed to take the hint.   
“Have you ever been to the Heart?” he asked, breaking the silence once more.  
Ezra shook her head. “No.”  
Snow crunched beneath their boots, the light of the orb flickering over them.   
“You’re in for a treat,” Noir said, a smile in his voice.  
No sooner had he finished speaking than she saw a glow in the distance to their right. It was soft, gradual, but held an orange hue to it, as if it were more lively than the orb illuminating their path. As they trekked on, cresting a snow covered hill, the Heart became visible one twinkling light at a time. The palace was what caught her attention first. It rose in a graceful, huge arc in the centre of the city, with soft crests and dips along its entirety. Surrounding the palace on all sides were buildings of all different sizes and shapes. From the glow of the city and the lights scattered about, it looked as if there was a touch of each territory here, the crystal of Oraleus, the black stone of the Korilan, even the woven wood of the Somavan. And that was just what she could see in the din. It made sense that the Heart, the trading hub of the land, would end up with such a mixture and variation of cultures.   
Glancing sideways at Noir, she saw the fond smile lighting up his face as he took in the view, looking down into the valley of his home. He’d claimed there was no finer place than the Heart.  
She hoped he was right.  
“Ready for a hot bath and some good food?” he asked, meeting her gaze.   
Ezra looked back to the city and nodded, swallowing down her nerves. “Lead the way.”  
Picking their way down the winding path that brought them closer and closer to the city, Ezra tried to calm her rapid pulse. Somehow, she hadn’t believed she’d actually get here. And now that she was, now that it was happening and every step drew her closer to salvation or destruction, it was all she could do not to turn tail and run back into the darkness. At least Velarian was nearly over at this point.   
As they descended, Ezra could see the streets were teeming with people, more than she thought as they began winding through the chaos. Men and women walking, children laughing, vendors selling a variety of wares. Not all were Iridanian, not even close. Where the streets of Oraleus had little variety of races, the Heart had a healthy mixture of all. Not a single one of them looked worried or wary of one another. Music drifted from somewhere to the left, and Ezra spotted what looked like a tavern, laughing occupants drifting around dancing and sharing food. The glorious scent of fresh food hit her nose, and she turned her head to the sizzling of meat rotating over a fire pit, the cook adding a healthy layer of spices atop it before slicing off a chunk and handing it to a customer on a napkin. Catching her gaze, Noir broke off the path and headed to the man, gesturing to him with a smile. A moment later, he handed over a coin and took two meat laden napkins with a smile. Returning, he handed one to Ezra. Her mouth watered at the scent, so much richer now that it was directly under her nose.   
“Here’s your first taste of Iridanian cuisine,” he said, continuing on walking.   
Ezra followed after him, staring at a string of jars overhead, each with a brightly glowing moth inside. Her attention was brought back down to ground level when a child ran directly into her shins, falling onto her backside and staring up at Ezra with wide eyes as purple petals from her handful of flowers jostled loose from the fall fluttered gently to the ground. Ezra simply stared back down at the child for a moment before offering a hand to her. The child took it, and Ezra pulled her to her feet. A broad smile painted the girl's face as she held a hand over her ruined flowers. Ezra watched in astonishment as the missing petals and crooked stems grew and straightened until it was impossible to tell the flowers had ever been damaged. The little girl plucked one from her bouquet and held it out to Ezra, saying something in a language she didn’t understand. Blinking, Ezra accepted the flower, a small smile lifting her lips.   
Noir knelt down beside the girl and said something in what sounded like the same language she had spoken. The girl replied with a giggle and ran off.   
“What was that about?” Ezra asked as Noir straightened, continuing on their walk.  
He waved to a vendor, saying, “She offered you a Blessing.”  
“A what?”  
“A Blessing,” Noir said. “It’s an Iridanian tradition, a token of thanks where one person gives the other good will and intentions. Often, it’s given with an item important to the one giving the Blessing. For that little girl, it was the flowers she grew.”  
Ezra blinked, glancing backwards. “How do I thank her?”   
She knew all too well how much even the simplest of gestures or thanks could mean to someone, especially a child.   
“Don’t worry,” Noir assured. “I told her you were grateful.”  
Holding the purple flower in one hand and her food in the other, Ezra again fell into step beside Noir as they headed for—  
“Are we going to the palace?” she blurted as the market faded behind them and the building loomed ahead.   
“It’s where I live,” Noir said. “It’ll be the easiest to find you a room, too.”  
Shock slammed through her, and any success she’d had in calming her anxiety dissipated. “I don’t want to go to the palace.”  
Noir frowned at her, cocking his head. “Why not?”  
Fuck. She couldn’t tell him the truth, that she feared the Kilvarr would recognize her and send her back to her father. But saying nothing would arouse even more suspicion. So she told the best lie she could think of on the spot, which also happened to be the lamest.  
“I don’t want to be any inconvenience.”  
Noir laughed, actually laughed at that. “Do you have any idea how big the palace is? I swear to you, you will not be an inconvenience. The Heart takes care of all our visitors. And,” he added, smirking sideways at her, “we still have to find that trading group that left you.”  
Considering they didn’t exist, he’d be searching for a while.   
“I don’t want to make anyone angry.”   
She’d spent too many years listening to her father’s rage to willingly let another be subjected to it. And what would happen if her father discovered Noir had been harbouring her? Surely there would be some kind of consequence for him or the Kilvarr.  
“Lana,” Noir said gently, turning to face her fully. “No one will be angry. No one will think you an inconvenience. You are safe here. I give you my word.”  
Biting the inside of her lip, she forced herself not to argue. If she continued to push away his help, he’d begin to suspect something was off. The last thing she needed was him digging into her life.   
Wordlessly, she nodded.   
Noir led the way to the palace, and no one stopped him as he walked right in through the front doors. No one gave her a second glance. No one questioned.   
The gigantic double doors were guarded by two soldiers dressed in the black and purple colours of Iridania, their swords made of the same iridescent metal as their armour. Together, they pushed the doors open with merely a nod to Noir.   
The throne room was exactly as she’d suspected it would look, but it still sent a wave of awe through her. The floors were a marbled black and silver twisting and swirling together as if someone had poured paint into the night sky and drug a brush through it. Along the walls were banners bearing the Iridanian crest, black and purple and silver fluttering softly as the doors closed behind them. The throne, set against the far wall, commanded attention. It was made of some kind of dark material that didn’t appear to be stone, nor wood. It was carved from one piece into the shape of a grand throne, the back spiking up high above where the Kilvarr sat.  
Or would have sat had he been present.   
Catching her staring, Noir said, “Legend has it the throne is carved from the skull of the Demon.”  
Ezra snorted. “If you believe such fairy tales.”  
“You don’t believe?” he asked, and she could have sworn there was an edge in his voice.  
Had she offended him?   
“That a monster roamed the land and only through the power of friendship did the nine clans defeat it?” she said, forcing a light hearted humour into her voice. “No, not exactly.”  
Noir glanced to the throne again as they passed, exiting through another smaller set of doors into a long hallway. “I don’t blame you. It does rather sound like a horror story.”  
“You believer in the Demon?” Ezra asked, glancing sideways at him.  
His face was wholly serious as he nodded. “Having seen some of the things I have in my life… yes, I fully believe something as horrible as the Demon once existed. It also explains the Amoratti.”  
Though she didn’t know every detail of the legend, the story went that the heads of the nine clans had beseeched the gods to help them, and the gods had granted them great power that was then used to slay the beast.   
Having no desire to discuss the Amoratti, Ezra instead asked, “Just how old are you?”  
Smirking, Noir cocked his head and glanced sideways at her. “It’s rude to ask an Iridanian man his age.”  
Ezra blinked at the absurdness of his claim, and it took a moment for her to realize he was joking. Rolling her eyes, she again focused on the path ahead, the twisting hallways he navigated without hesitation, as if he’d spent ages wandering them. Much like the throne room, the hallway had the same marbled flooring, though the walls were different. Instead of banners or portraits of past rulers, the walls were a huge tile mural, depicting a battle she could only assume was the Great War in which the nine clans fought against the Demon for their very existence. The piece took up both sides of the wall, one being the Amoratti leading the nine clans, the other being the Demon and it’s minions. One was a wall of hope and light, the other of destruction and darkness.   
“Your interior decorating skills leave something to be desired,” Ezra murmured, still staring at the giant mural that spanned the entire hallway.   
“I assure you, I’d never have picked something so tacky,” Noir said, a hint of humour in his voice as he followed her gaze across the mural. “No, this has been here for generations. Some kind of memorial to the war.”  
Their boots tapped lightly against the marble as Noir led her deeper into the Heart of Iridania. She tried to keep track of the turns, of the different hallways and stairways he trekked through. The mural had given way to the banners and portraits she’d expected, each of them Iridanian and serious looking. All but the last one, a portrait of a bronze skinned woman with the smallest hint of a smirk pulling up the corner of her lips. And though there was mischief on her face, there was an air of danger to her. Somehow, the painter had captured her as if she were still alive within, and Ezra half expected her to blink or say something.   
A minute later,, they came to a door made of dark wood as all the others were. Noir paused with his hand on the handle, turning to her and saying, “Would you mind waiting out here a moment? I just need to sort out where you’ll be staying. And between you and me, the other advisors are a pain in the ass.”  
Curling her fingers against her thighs, Ezra nodded as she fought the itch to grip a knife, seeking the comfort the weapon brought.   
Noir smiled. “Be right back.”  
He was through the door before she could think to say anything, closing it with a soft snick and leaving her alone in the hall.   
What the fuck was she doing?   
He could damn well be selling her out at this very moment, a gambling chip for the Kilvarr to use as he willed. Her fingers twitched toward her knife again and she ground her teeth. Whatever was to come, she’d find a way to deal with it. Surviving alone in the Dark Month hadn’t been easy, but if she could do that, she could find her way out of this.   
She could do this.   
Her heart jumped as the door opened again and Noir appeared, closing it quickly behind him. He held up a hand, a key dangling from a strip of leather hanging from his finger.   
“I’ll show you to your room.”

***

The room was nicer than anything she’d seen before. Even her own room back in the Oraleus castle couldn’t compare to the sheer size and lavishness of the room Noir had led her into. The bed was bigger than it had any business being, with fresh smelling sheets and a blanket that looked softer than rabbit fur. The furniture all had the same dark wooden colour to it, while the floor had the same marbling as the rest of the building. Another door led to the bathing room, which was fully stocked with soaps, shampoos, oils, and anything else she could possibly imagine ever needing. And it was warm and well lit, with candles and oil lamps on the walls and flat surfaces of the furniture. She wasn’t sure if Noir had planned the extra light, if he had guessed just how badly the dark terrified her. It was… it was incredible.   
“You can stay here as long as you like,” Noir was saying after he’d given her a quick tour of the room. “I’ve arranged for dinner to be brought to you tonight so you can get settled in. Tomorrow someone will come to show you around properly. I’d do it myself but I’ve a prior engagement.”   
“With the Kilvarr?”  
Noir nodded, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall. “It seems I chose a bad time to take a vacation. Things have gotten tense with the Korilan in my absence.”  
At her questioning look, Noir sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “They attacked our emissary. Seemingly unprovoked, but we need his side of the story before we do anything.”  
Maybe it was horrible of her, but she was glad the news wasn’t from Oraleus.   
Ezra nodded. “I’ll let you get to it then.”  
“Send word if you need anything,” he said, striding to the door, pausing halfway through it and glancing back. “The guards will pass on your messages if you wave one down as they patrol. I’d wait until you have a full tour to go wandering, this place is like a maze if you don’t know where you’re going.”  
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, watching him go.  
When the door closed again, she locked it, a sense of calm washing over her. It seemed silly, but having a door between her and the unknown was comforting, as if nothing could get her in here. She just hoped that comfort wasn’t misplaced.   
Unlike the cabin, her first night in the palace was restless and disruptive. While her room blocked out much noise, there was the occasional slam or bark of noise that pierced the walls, each sound had her snapping awake, heart pounding as she surveyed her room for intruders. Every time, it gave her a start of panic to see the unfamiliar surroundings until she remembered where she was. The oil lamps were still going, though she’d blown the candles out in case the lamps went out. And though Noir had assured her she was safe, she slept with her hand wrapped around her dagger, holding it close to her chest.   
It was early morning when a rumble ran through the castle, swift and almost imperceptible. Ezra awoke immediately, clutching her knife as she watched the lamps quiver. After a second it was over, and she was left wondering if she’d imagined it. There was no cry of alarm, no guards rushing about calling warnings or drawing swords. There was nothing but the sound of her heart hammering against her ribs.   
She did not fall asleep again.

***

Ezra spent an entire day in her room, enjoying a hot bath and the glorious food that was delivered to her door. Truly, if she died now, she could do so happy and content. But as delicious as the food was and relaxing as the citrus scented bath she soaked in was, neither could override that inner voice that urged her to do something. Of course, that voice didn’t explain what exactly it wanted her to do, only nagged her for something, anything.   
She’d already distinguished what the guards' footsteps sounded like, slightly heavier in the marble as they carried the weight of their armour and weapons with them. After her bath, she’d spent over an hour waiting for… she didn’t know what. Waiting for something to happen, she supposed. Whoever was supposed to give her a tour hadn’t shown yet, and she was beginning to lose hope they would.   
It was on the next pass of the guard that Ezra dared unlock her door and poke her head out.  
“Excuse me,” she said, hoping he spoke the common tongue.   
“Yes, my lady?” the female guard replied, stopping and turning toward her.   
Ezra couldn’t help but glance down to the iridescent sword hanging at the woman’s hip, then back up to her face, open and pleasant. She swallowed, stepping out from her room. “I was wondering where Noir is.”  
The woman tilted her head as if thinking. “I believe he’s busy now, but I can arrange a meeting for you this evening, if you’d like?”  
A meeting? She frowned, but supposed it made sense the Kilvarr’s advisor would be busy, especially considering whatever attack had happened on the emissary.   
“Yes, thank you, that would be great,” Ezra said with a small smile she knew didn’t reach her eyes.   
As the guard turned to deliver the request, Ezra watched her go, wondering how long it would take to get a meeting, or even if she should have asked in the first place.   
Shaking her head, Ezra turned to retreat back into her room, slamming face first into a wall. No, not a wall. A man. A very large, dark skinned, heavily muscled man. Craning her neck back to look up at him, Ezra blinked and opened her mouth, but nothing came out. How had he snuck up on her?  
He grinned, showing teeth, canines protruding. “Hello, Lana.”


	6. Chapter 6

Ezra gaped up at the mountain before her. He was larger than Noir, and at least a foot taller than her. He wore a sleeveless, high necked black shirt that hugged his torso, and pants that looked as if they’d seen better days. His boots were still tracking in bits of dirt and he smelled of hay, leather, and sweat. His hair was a mass of wild dark locks, a weeks growth of beard adorning his face. And those eyes, those amber eyes that all but glowed as he looked down at her.   
She couldn’t find words as her hand drifted back to her knife, wondering how he’d gotten into the palace and if she could get past him. His eyes flicked down to her hand, then back to her face.   
When he spoke, it was with a thickly accented voice that rolled off his tongue like honey. “Sorry I’m late, I was dealing with the animals. My name is Synattori Telavon, I’m the Beast Master here at the palace. I’ll also be your guide for today.”  
Ezra exhaled, unable to hide the relief that washed over her. For a moment she had thought… had thought that one of her father’s men had found her. As her fingers unclenched and she found the strength to pull her hand away from her dagger, she realized there was another guard trailing a respectable distance behind the man.   
“Is that for me?” she asked, raising a brow as she met Synattori’s gaze.  
He glanced behind him and lifted his big shoulders in a shrug. “I suppose. Though sometimes they follow me around. I swear, they think I’m not housebroken yet.”  
Ezra snorted, unease drifting away at the humour. It was hard to remember that Noir had saved her, had assured her she’d be okay here. He hadn’t broken his promises yet, so perhaps he wouldn’t.   
With a longing look back at her pack, sitting neatly on the floor, Ezra took the step out of her room and closed the door behind her. The soft click of the latch seemed to echo through the hall, as if sealing her fate, though for the first time it didn’t feel as if she were damned. Whatever was to come of this, she’d deal with it.   
Synattori smiled, gesturing down the hall. As she fell into step beside him, he spoke again. “I’m told you’ve seen the throne room already, but I know how confusing this place is, so we’ll start there and work our way through. That way, you’ll be able to find your way around whenever you come through those doors.”  
It was a sound plan, one that would ensure she knew her way in and out.   
“Have you done this before?” she asked, cocking her head and glancing sideways at him.   
“A time or two,” he hummed as they walked.  
“And why would they send the Beast Master as a tour guide?” Ezra pried, lengthening her steps to keep up with his long legs.   
“I’ve a penchant for calming wild things,” he said, amber eyes flashing.   
“Did I truly make such an impression?” Ezra asked, embarrassment rising on her cheeks.  
“He told me you stabbed him,” Synattori chuckled.  
“I barely scratched him!”   
His laugh continued, her outburst only confirming whatever he thought of her.   
“Are you another advisor?” Ezra asked, cheeks still flaming as they made their way down the winding halls.   
“You could say that, though the prick rarely listens to me.”  
Ezra gaped at him, then jerked her head around to see if anyone had heard him. There was the guard following along behind them, but he seemed far enough back that maybe he hadn’t heard. Surely the man couldn’t be as stupid as to speak ill of the Kilvarr?   
“What?” he asked, looking genuinely confused.  
Shaking her head, Ezra again glanced back at the guard, who appeared not to have heard anything after all. Lowering her voice, she said, “How can you talk like that and still have your head?”  
“Like what? He is a prick.”  
“Synattori!”  
He paused, raising a brow. “No one uses my full name. Most just call me Syn.”  
Good gods the man was incorrigible.   
“You’re from Oraleus, are you not?” he asked, leading her down a new hallway.   
She nodded.  
“I take it things are done differently there than they are here,” Syn said, boots tapping on the marble. “The Kilvarr and I are friends. He’s not malicious as some would lead you to believe. He’s helped me through more than I can say, and in return I’ve been there for him. If a man’s best friend can’t call him a prick, who can?”  
He had a point there, but it was still astonishing that he could even consider saying what he had. Her father would have killed anyone at the very hint of such thoughts, let alone words. But then, the Heart was a different place, as she was coming to learn. It was a city she looked forward to embracing.   
Syn led her through the palace for an hour, explaining the mind numbing twists and turns and where each hallway went and what doors led to where. He hadn’t bothered showing her the dungeon, which she appreciated immensely. From the ground floor, they’d worked their way up through the structure. Syn was showing her the sun room when a tremor ran through the palace, a twin to the one she had felt only hours before.   
Ezra’s gaze shot to his, knowing she hadn’t imagined it. “What was that?”  
A pinched smile crossed Syn’s face as he shrugged, staring out the windows. “It happens occasionally.”  
Frowning, Ezra shook her head, turning back to the high windows that would allow sun through if there was any light to be had. Velarian was coming to an end, and the sky was beginning to lighten, but it would be some time before the sun fully showed itself once more. As it was, the stars were shining brightly over the Heart, the moon still big and bright alongside them. The darkness was not nearly as crushing as it had been a day ago.   
“Just promise me there isn’t a madman conducting experiments in the dungeons and I’ll pretend your answer put me at ease,” she said, eyes lowering from the stars to the lights of the Heart, where it’s people were out in full force.  
“To my knowledge, we got rid of our madman infestation a few years back,” Syn said, crossing his arms and watching her from where he stood.   
“How reassuring,” Ezra said. “Have you considered becoming a counsellor?”  
Syn shrugged. “I doubt it pays as well as my current position.” A pause. “Noir said you were abandoned by your trading group.”  
Ezra tensed. “I’d rather not talk about that.”  
“That’s fine,” he said, a hard edge creeping into his voice that made her look at him. “But it doesn’t change the fact they left you. I don’t know how you do things back home, but here that’s a crime. Starting tomorrow, we’ll be sending out a team to track down the people who left you, but it would help if you could give us some names, where they may have headed, anything notable about them.”  
Fuck.  
They weren’t supposed to ask these questions.  
“I’ll… think about it,” she said, averting her gaze. “I just need some time to get my thoughts in order.”  
She needed time to get her lies in order. It wouldn’t do to fuck up her own story by mixing up details. And she had the feeling Syn would be the first to notice if what she told him didn’t sit right.  
“I understand,” he said, voice softening. “Take your time.”  
A messenger arrived a moment later, poking her head in the door and offering a bright smile. “I apologize for the short notice, but your meeting has been arranged for now, miss.”  
“Thank you,” she said, watching the messenger dash off before she could even ask where it would take place. She had no idea where Noir would be, and looked to Syn for help.   
Wordlessly, he jerked his chin toward the door, and she fell into step beside him, the guard trailing behind them once more. Syn led her back down the stairs and winding hallways that still confused the hells out of her. It would take more than one pass through to fully understand it, but—  
But she recognized the hallway they were passing through now. The one with the mural that led to the throne room. The centre of her forehead tingled, and though no vision made itself known, she suddenly knew what she was about to walk in on.   
Through the doors, Syn led her around the side of the room, her eyes locked on the back of the throne as the man seated upon it slowly came into view, speaking with a man kneeling before him. As if sensing her gaze, he turned his head, surprise flashing across his face before he squelched it.   
Noir opened his mouth, but no words came out as he stared for a second too long before tearing his gaze away from her and murmuring something to the man before him. Nodding, the man rose, bowing once before turning and striding from the room, sleeveless black cloak billowing behind him.   
“I suppose I owe you an explanation,” Noir said, leaning back on the throne. His throne.   
He’d changed and shaved since she’d last seen him. Gone were the hunting leathers, replaced by intricate iridescent armour, a cloak of black and purple clasped at his throat, and a crown of obsidian fangs wrapped around his head, each pointed end sharp enough to shred flesh. But more than the clothing change, his entire demeanour has changed, as if someone had turned a light out. The humourous, light hearted man she’d met had all but disappeared beneath the seriousness of the Kilvarr’s face. He even held himself different, with a straight back and no hint of laughter on his face as she had so often seen during their week of travel.   
Ezra only stared at him for a long moment, holding his gaze. Finally, she tipped her chin up and growled, “That would be appreciated.”  
Her tone caught the attention of the guards on either side of Noir, their hands shifting ever so slightly in preparation of a fight. She wasn’t stupid enough to start something in the Iridanian throne room. The Kilvarr was Amoratti. Noir was Amoratti. It was a wonder he even bothered with guards.   
Sighing, Noir leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and holding his hands out palms up as if in supplication. “My time at the cabin was indeed a vacation, but not from being an advisor. The reason I was able to subdue you in the cave is because I’m Amoratti.”  
“How’d you find me?” she breathed, fighting to hide her rising panic.   
If her father had a bounty out on her…  
“The Amoratti have a kind of link,” he explained. “It’s like… like a web. Where one of us moves, the others can sometimes feel it, like a ripple in the strings. Usually it happens when you’re in close proximity, sometimes it happens if the Amoratti are connected. I think I could sense you because my family has been linked to the land for generations.”  
“And your intentions in bringing me here?” Ezra ground out.  
Noir blinked. “Because you were starving, freezing, and alone with a power it’s obvious you don’t understand. We can help you.”  
“We?”  
He waved his hand, gesturing vaguely to the palace. “There are more Amoratti here than you realize. We can help you, train you, teach you not to fear your power.”  
“I do not fear my power,” she snarled, fingers curling as heat raced down them, energy begging to be released.   
The guards drew their weapons. Noir stilled them with a wave of his hand, needing only the power of his title to do so.   
“Regardless, you need training,” he said firmly. “Limitless power with no training isn’t power at all, it’s a liability. Not only for yourself, but for the world. Lana,” he said, voice softening. “I’m not forcing you into anything, I’m offering you a chance to learn. We’ll find you a place to live and a job if you desire, all I ask in return is that you give us a chance to help you.”   
“No one gives things like that away for free. What’s your true price?”  
Noir shook his head, and his hand twitched upward as if he were about to run it through his dark hair, then stopped. “I told you already.”  
“How can I trust you?” she asked. “You’ve already lied to me more than once.”  
He dropped his gaze to the floor, the most unleader-like thing she’d seen him do since seeing him on that throne. “For that, I apologize. It was my misguided way of getting you here, to safety. I made a mistake, and I’d very much like to right it.”  
She thought back to what he’d said that night about good intentions, how he’d failed in the past. Whatever he’d done, whatever he’d seen in his life, it was none of her business. All that mattered was if she could trust him or not. He’d lied to her, that was true. But she lied to him every time she responded to the name Lana. She lied when she told him about the trading group. This could be the one person in the world who could truly help her. He could also be the one to damn her.   
How could she justify laying her entire life in the hands of someone she’d met only a week ago?  
How could she turn her back on the one who’d saved her?  
Closing her eyes, she focused her energy to the centre of her forehead, to the third eye that rested just below the skin. It was one of the few things she had any luck with power wise, and that was simply because it had been part of her for the duration of her life. Though it failed her more often than not, she could feel the energy thrum, the tingle that began above her brows and spread.   
Though there was never a clear answer when it came to visions, often times they came accompanied with senses, vague ideas and flashes of what was to come. She focused on what would happen if she were to trust Noir, poured all her energy into the thought. The world faded away as a barrage of images flashed before her eyes, too fast to single any out, to make sense of them. With the images came emotion of every kind, assaulting her senses relentlessly. But through the chaos, through the migraine inducing flurry, she could feel an overarching sense of…   
Safety. Companionship. Friendship. Loyalty. Love.  
The sudden wash of emotion nearly brought tears to her eyes, breaking her concentration and shattering the connection to her third eye.   
As she came back from her mind into the throne room, she realized someone was touching her. A hand, warm and reassuring, held her shoulder gently, steadying her. Ezra blinked up at Syn, feeling blood running down from her nostril. Even an hour ago, she would have shoved him off, spat curses at him for touching her, maybe pulled a knife on him. But now… now, after what she’d seen, what she’d felt…   
It was time to go out on a limb and give trust a chance. If any of what she’d felt was true, if it was possible, she’d be a fool to walk away.   
Pulling away from Syn, she wiped the back of her hand across her nose, smearing blood and meeting Noir’s gaze again, a hint of concern there now.   
“If you betray me,” she said slowly, “if you try to keep me here without my consent, I swear to you on my life, it will be a mistake you deeply regret.”  
The Kilvarr watched her for a moment, perhaps trying to make sense of the wild thing he’d drug home. Finally, he nodded, fisting his hand over his heart and inclining his head. “I understand.”  
“If I were to agree to the training, who would be teaching me?”   
Noir’s gaze flicked to her left, where Syn stood. “While there is more Amoratti here, I believe Syn would be the best to start out with. He’s… much more patient than others.”  
Glancing sideways at the grinning Beast Master, Ezra wondered if she should be insulted. Deciding to think on that little detail later, she turned her attention back to Noir. “I’ll think about it.”  
“My love.”  
All attention was turned to the voice, belonging to a woman with soft brown curls down to her waist and eyes so dark they looked black. Poking out from her curls were delicately pointed ears similar to Ezra’s own, her body slim and lithe, built for speed. When she spoke, Ezra could see the hint of fangs poking out from behind her lips. Around her head was an intricate chain circlet, a single blue gemstone hanging over her forehead.   
“I’ve a message from the Yvori Imari,” she said, glancing between the gathered parties and offering a smile. “It’s marked as urgent.”  
Noir held his hand out to her, the corners of his lips pulling up. “Of course, darling.”  
Ezra watched as the woman strode across the room to hand Noir the letter. She’d had no idea the Kilvarr had a partner. Then again, she’d had no idea who the Kilvarr even was. It should have clicked when he’d given her his name.   
There was a rustle of paper as Noir opened the letter. Though Ezra knew very little about the powerful wise women who made their home off the coast of Dejova, she knew they weren’t women to be kept waiting. And whatever Noir read on the paper inside obviously wasn’t to his liking, as his face turned grave. He scanned the letter again before handing it to the woman. Her face soon mirrored his as they shared a look.   
Obviously, the news wasn’t good.   
Noir met Syn’s gaze, and some silent understanding passed between them, a power only friends of many years possessed.   
“I’m sorry to cut our meeting short, Lana, but something’s come up that requires my immediate attention,” Noir said, turning those iridescent eyes back to her. “But I hope you’ll join my court and I for dinner this evening. Syn will show you the way.”  
It wasn’t a request so much as an order, she could tell by the way his eyes hardened. Whatever was going on was serious. Did it have something to do with the emissary who’d been attacked?   
As Syn moved to lead her out, Noir stood and spoke with the woman in low tones. Though Ezra couldn’t make out what he said, she could hear the woman’s voice despite her efforts of speaking quietly.  
“We need the others now,” she said urgently, shaking the letter at him.   
Noir nodded, saying something Ezra couldn’t hear. Their voices faded out as Syn led her through the doors to the hallway.   
“You didn’t know he was the Kilvarr?” Syn asked as they walked.   
“No,” Ezra sighed. “I should have guessed.”  
Syn shrugged his massive shoulders. “Veldvarian is a common Iridanian name, it’s been used throughout history by those within and outside of the royal family.”  
“How long have the Veldvarians been ruling?” Ezra asked.  
“Numbers aren’t my strong suit,” Syn said with a smirk. “But I’d say a few hundred years. They’ve been able to keep the Amoratti power within their line, so they’re strong enough to protect their people. And as far as I know, they’ve all been fairly just rulers.”  
“Fairly?” Ezra raised a brow.  
Syn’s mouth pressed into a thin line for a second, as if contemplating what he was about to say. “Sometimes good intentions don’t always turn out.”  
In other words, at least one had fucked up along the way. Ezra wondered how recent that mistake had been, if Noir was the one behind it. And if so, what had he done?   
Escorting her back to her room, Syn paused outside the door as she opened it. Ezra turned back to him, waiting for whatever it was he was going to say.   
After a moment he said, “I’ll return when dinner is ready.” He glanced down to her ragged pants and worn jacket. “Are you opposed to gowns?”  
Ezra blinked. “I… no, I’m not.”  
She couldn’t recall the last time she’d been able to wear anything but her ratty pants and jacket. Not within the last year, not even at her brother’s hunting cabin. The fear of having to run at a moments notice had always left her on edge, thinking two steps ahead. Running around in a gown in the woods hadn’t seemed like a good idea, so she’d stuck with pants. The thought of a gown… it was just so normal.  
The corners of Syn’s lips twitched up. “I’ll ask Saph if she has something you could borrow.”  
“Saph?”  
“Noir’s fiancé,” Syn clarified, folding his arms and leaning against the doorway. “Dejovan princess and key to forming an alliance between the two countries.”  
That caught her attention. “Do countries often seek out alliances outside of wartime?”  
“Constantly,” Syn said. “Most fall through after they realize tying the two together might get in the way of opposing ideas, others never get past the proposition. There’s all kinds of bullshit that goes into marriage between two powers.”  
Ezra didn’t doubt that for a second. She’d heard her father speak of finding a wife for Therik many times over the years, calling in advisors to map out the pros and cons. And, of course, conditions to cover his ass. The Oraleus King was many things, though no one could call him lazy when it came to working out the best details for himself. The man was conniving, a schemer to his very core.   
Ezra prayed Noir was not the same.  
“I shall leave you now,” Syn said, backing out of her room. “See you at dinner.”  
Alone again, Ezra closed her door, and hesitated before finally locking it. Returning to the bed, she sat heavily, the weight of the day pressing down on her shoulders. Noir was the Kilvarr. He’d lied to her. He’d saved her. He’d offered her salvation.   
Could she take it?  
The memory of her vision came back to her, and though she wished it was clearer, it was a start. If she had to reach for that feeling, that belonging, if she had to bleed for it to finally grasp it… she would. Gods help her, she’d do anything for that feeling to be real.  
Running her hands through her hair, Ezra exhaled, trying to force with it all the anxieties, the fears and the worry. As she began to relax, she leaned her head back against the wall, allowing her eyes to drift closed again.  
It felt like only a moment later the knock sounded against her door. Judging by the dimming lamps, she supposed she’d fallen asleep for an hour, maybe more. Standing and shaking the sleep from her bones, Ezra made her way to the door just as another knock sounded.  
“One moment!” she snapped, dragging her hand down her face.   
No doubt it was a servant with a dress for her. She should have just said no. Unlocking the door, she swung it open with the intention of telling the servant she’d changed her mind, but stopped dead as the princess met her gaze with a smile that showed her canines. “Good evening, Lana. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. May I come in?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no update. Shit’s been wild leading up to Christmas, especially working my first retail job OTL But now that 2021 is here (may it be kinder than its predecessor) I’ll try and keep updating every week. We’ll see how it goes uwu

Ezra stared at the woman in the doorway. She was even more beautiful up close, her brown curls bearing a healthy shine, her near black eyes flashing with humour as she smiled. Her skin held a soft sun kissed hue, despite the winter months. She’d changed since the meeting, and now wore a gown of soft violet, the neckline dipping down all the way to the bottom of her ribs, leaving her chest and a considerable amount of cleavage visible. In her slender hands she held three gowns, each a different, shimmering colour.  
Realizing she was staring and blocking the way of a princess, Ezra stepped aside to let her in. She swept into the room with the gowns, laying them out on the bed and turning back to the door. Ezra saw two guards darkening the doorway and froze.  
Sensing her discomfort, the princess turned her dazzling smile to the door. “Thank you for your time, but this is more of a private function. I’ll call if you’re needed.”  
Instead of arguing, both guards simply nodded and stood on either side of the door as the princess closed it. It was a bold move to allow a princess in a room with a stranger, an Amoratti no less. Even bolder was the way the princess turned her back to Ezra as she set about arranging the dresses on the bed.  
As if reading her thoughts, she said, “If you’re thinking I’m naive for leaving them outside I’d just like to mention I’ve been trained all my life in magic and combat.” She turned, grinning. “And I grew up with a hard ass for a brother. My name is Saphira Amora, but please feel free to call me Saph.”  
“I’m Lana,” Ezra said, the lie rolling off her tongue with ease.  
“It’s nice to meet you, Lana,” Saphira said, and there was nothing in her face to make Ezra doubt the sincerity of her words.  
What a strange court she’d stumbled into, one of smiles and warm welcomes instead of cold suspicion. Perhaps there was a future for her here after all.  
“Now,” Saphira said, gesturing to the colourful pieces of fabric she’d laid out. “I think any of these would look wonderful on you, and I’ve some jewelry for each of them if you’d like.”  
The dresses were beautiful. There was a soft shimmering green one cut low in the back with a single loop of fabric that held it up around the wearers neck, with a full skirt that would reach her feet. The next was a pale blue, with two straps and gems woven throughout that made it look as if it were coated in ice. The last was a sleek black dress that covered one arm and shoulder completely while the other arm was left bare. The back was open and would accommodate her wings as easily as the green dress, though this one would cover more skin.  
Thinking of the scars on her shoulder and the freshly healed marks on her forearm, Ezra considered the black dress, hesitantly stepping forward to touch the fabric. It felt as sleek as it looked, with subtle hints of silver shimmering within. Glancing at the green, she knew she’d feel naked with her shoulders showing, and the blue… it looked too much like snow and ice. The black would at least give her more coverage.  
Seeing her gaze, Saphira moved to hold it up in front of Ezra, resting the fabric against her jacket and considering it with an expert eye. “Black is fitting for every occasion.”  
“Even a wedding?” Ezra asked.  
Saphira smirked. “Especially a wedding.”  
There was something about the princess that invited warmth and conversation. It was impossible to explain why, but the woman just radiated an undeniable energy of kindness. With a hint of smart ass.  
“Go try it on,” Saphira said, pushing the gown into Ezra’s hands.  
Who was she to tell a princess no?  
Gathering the fabric up so it wouldn’t drag on the floor, Ezra moved to the bathing room, closing the door and turning to the mirror. Though she still looked thin and hollow, there was a returning warmth to her skin, and her cheeks didn’t appear nearly as gaunt as they had a little over a week ago. The first thing she stripped off was the knife at her hip, laying it gently on the counter before she set about removing the rest of her clothing.  
It took all of one second after she’d pulled the dress on to realize there was a massive slit up the side of the dress that stopped more than halfway up her thigh.  
“Better for running, I suppose,” she muttered to herself.  
“Can I see?” Saphira called from the other side of the door.  
Ezra hesitated, glancing at herself in the mirror. The dress was gorgeous, and did wonders to make her appear a refined young woman. Or would have, were it not for the remaining hardness in her face, her stance. Exhaling, she swung the door open.  
The princess’s face lit up. “It’s perfect! Is it comfortable?”  
Shrugging, Ezra didn’t have time to object as Saphira reached forward and adjusted the neckline of the gown, then smoothed the torso of it in quick, efficient movements.  
“It looks wonderful on you,” the princess said, and produced a small jewelry box from somewhere within her own gown.  
Popping it open on the counter, she pulled out a silver necklace of gems, each one glinting in the light. “May I?” she asked.  
Ezra nodded, pulling her hair away from her neck as Saphira reached around to clasp the chain. It sat at the base of her throat, snug, but not tight. Next, the princess pulled out a slim silver cuff, slipping it on Ezra’s wrist and squeezing it to fit it against her skin.  
With a smile, Saphira moved and pulled the dagger from the counter. “The most important accessory a woman can carry is a good blade.”  
Ezra couldn’t agree more, and didn’t ask any questions as Saphira handed her a slim leather belt. Knowing exactly what it was meant for, she strapped it to her thigh, the slit in the dress making much more sense now. Saphira pulled the sheath from Ezra’s original belt and hooked it on the thigh belt.  
“Would it be considered unusual to wear a weapon to dinner?” Ezra asked.  
The princess snorted, tightening the belt. “Fuck no. You won’t find one of us without.”  
Ezra almost choked. She’d never heard such language come from such a pretty mouth.  
Saphira smirked. “Learned all the best curses from my brother. Made some up myself, but I’m told such words shouldn’t cross my lips.”  
“Who had the balls to tell you that?” Ezra gaped.  
“My prick of a father,” Saphira said, pulling a handful of hairpins from the jewelry box and reaching to tame Ezra’s hair. “He never could seem to understand that pissing off a woman was a bad idea.”  
Ezra laughed as Saphira finished pinning the right side of her hair back. The princess ran her fingers through Ezra’s bangs, smoothing the wayward locks into a wave, blending the small black patch into the white.  
“You have such unusual hair,” Saphira murmured, guiding a stray hair back into place.  
Shrugging to hide the sudden tension in her shoulders, Ezra played it off. “Both my parents have strong genes. I’m told the black is my mother's hard headedness and the white is supposedly my father's sensibility. I think it’s just a birthmark.”  
Saphira chuckled. “I’m guessing from the tone of your voice it’s the other way around.”  
“You wouldn’t be wrong.”  
“Where do your parents live?” Saphira asked, turning to the mirror to fix her own hair.  
The easy answer would be to say they were both dead, but that could take explaining. Weaving further lore into her lie, Ezra instead said, “They immigrated to the south for a change a few years ago. We keep in touch, but haven’t visited since they moved.”  
“I assume it would be hard to keep in touch while on a trade route,” Saphira commented.  
It was subtle thing, the way the princess glanced sideways to Ezra in the mirror, her hand stilling at her hair for a split second before she continued on as if nothing had happened.  
“Yes, it is,” Ezra said flatly.  
“You could write to them now, you know,” Saphira said. “Our messengers go out every day. They’re rumoured to be the fastest in the land, but I think it’s because we’re in the middle of the continent, so they have half as much distance to travel as other carriers.”  
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Ezra said, unsure what to make of the comment.  
“Do you want to borrow any cosmetics?” the princess asked.  
“No, thank you.”  
Saphira smiled. “Then let me get some sandals for you and we can be on our way.”  
Somehow, the princess had managed to get a jewelry box, a cosmetics bag, and three sets of sandals into the room without Ezra noticing, making her wonder if the princess was trained in some kind of conjuring, or at least sleight of hand. The sandals were three different sizes, since Saphira had guessed by Ezra’s boot size what she’d need. They were all black, though the ones that fit came with slim leather straps that wove halfway up her calf in crisscross patterns before being tied off. They were much more open than she was used to, but oddly freeing.  
“Ready to go?” Saphira asked.  
Ezra nodded, and the princess swept her out of the room, the guards falling into formation behind them as Saphira led the way to the upper floor of the palace. Ezra realized when they passed the sun room that Syn hadn’t finished the tour, as the room they headed for was located just beyond that. Two guards opened the big double doors, the ancient hinges creaking at the movement.  
Ezra gaped as she took in the room. It was not the enormous circular table or the feast upon it that caught her eye, nor was it the statues of heroes of old stationed around the room. It was the stained glass mandala that took up the entire ceiling, the moonlight casting soft hues of the coloured glass across the room. It was like magic, the colours, the design. It was better than magic.  
“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t be joining us.”  
Ezra’s attention was pulled back to the room, where Noir sat with a few others at the table. The only one she recognized was Syn. Both of them wore fine black clothing.  
“Please,” Saphira scoffed, leading Ezra around the table to sit by Syn. “I can’t speak for our guest, but I wouldn’t miss a meal, even if I have to deal with your dramatic ass.”  
“Me? Dramatic? Never,” Noir said with a smirk as Saphira sat next to him. “And my ass is very fine, I’ll have you know.”  
The princess rolled her eyes. “Continue speaking of it and we shall see who has the finer.”  
“I for one would rather not see his hairy ass again,” Syn rumbled from beside Ezra.  
“I’d love to see his ass,” came a voice from Noir’s other side as a man approached, limping deeply.  
It took a moment to realize that the deep purple over his eyes wasn’t makeup, but bruises. His white hair was shorn short, revealing pointed ears like her own, pierced with silver throughout. The skin she could see that wasn’t bruised was tan, and his eyes shone red from beneath his lashes as he smirked. He wore a high necked shirt she couldn’t name the style of, with the top laced together, his shoulders bare, and a diamond shape cut out of the chest area, revealing more bruised flesh and soft grey wings poking out from behind him. While the shirt cut off just above his navel, the loose flowing fabric of his leggings, though open at the sides, covered much of him. The lighter blue fabric at his waist fell in a flowing bunch between his legs, just above feet that were covered only by a strip connecting from his leggings to his middle toe.  
Ezra couldn’t even begin to guess who he was or where he was from. Syn stood and moved to help the slimmer man into a chair, hands gentle as he avoided as much bruising as he could.  
“Trust me, Quin, you don’t,” Syn chuckled. “It’ll give you nightmares.”  
Slumping into the chair, Quin sighed and pulled a glass of wine to his lips. “I could take your word for it, or I could risk the nightmares.”  
“No one is looking at my ass,” Noir said, hiding a smile behind his own glass.  
The others at the table laughed, actually laughed at the Kilvarr and the antics of the court.  
Syn settled back into the chair beside hers. “The sex fiend is Quinlan, our emissary.”  
Ezra blinked as she realized this must be the emissary that had been attacked. It explained the bruising and the limp, that was for sure.  
Catching her gaze, Quinlan gave her a lopsided grin and lifted his glass before draining its contents. “Lovely to meet you.”  
On Quinlan’s other side was a woman clothed in what Ezra assumed was a black skirt, and a strip of cloth bound around her breasts that left her arms bare to show off the full sleeves of dark tattoos. Her hair was mass of short red curls with two small white horns curving out of her forehead. There was a piercing in the centre of her bottom lip, a shining stud in either side of her nose with more decorating her ears, and a blue tattoo of a tree that curved along the outer side of her left eye, it’s branches reaching over her eyebrow. She blinked her pale eyes and smiled at Ezra, showing nothing but a mouthful of pointed teeth. Unlike Saphira’s single set of canines, every tooth in this woman’s mouth was razor sharp.  
“That one is Suri,” Syn said, gesturing to the red haired woman. “And the pouting one next to her is Clove.”  
Clove’s violet eyes flashed from beneath his hood, his muscular arms folded over his chest, bare from the shoulder down until his forearms were covered with leather bracers. His cloak swished ever so slightly and she realized it was due to a long barbed tail slashing angrily side to side.  
The man from the throne room, she realized, recognizing the cloak.  
“Don’t worry,” Syn said, leaning closer and stage whispering. “He’s not usually so cranky, he just didn’t get his nap today.”  
A knife flew across the table. Faster than Ezra could see, Syn caught it and threw it right back, grinning wildly as it embedded in the table right in front of Clove.  
“Don’t fuck up my table,” Noir snapped, though there was a hint of humour in it.  
“Tell this shithead if he doesn’t shut his fucking mouth I’ll serve his corpse up to his precious animals and boil his bones for jewelry,” Clove spat.  
Syn roared with laughter. “I’ll have to remember that one.”  
Clove let out a snarl and wrenched the blade free from the table, pulling his arm back to throw again.  
There was a clatter as steel met steel, and Clove cursed as his knife fell from his hand to the marble floor. The force that had knocked his knife from his hand and left blood spatter in its wake hadn’t come from Syn, nor had it come from anyone sitting at the table. Rather, it came from the newcomer at the door, who had entered so silently it was a wonder none of them had heard her. She strode across the room, clothed head to toe in a skintight black battle suit that had plenty of pockets for weapons. Her black hair streamed out behind her in sleek waves, her skin a soft brown that brought out the red of her eyes. Her black wings rustled behind her, tucked tightly against her back.  
“Did your mothers never teach you it’s rude to murder at the dinner table?” the woman asked, heaving something up and dropping it on the table beside Noir.  
It was a massive battle axe, chipped and worn from years of use.  
“Didn’t yours ever teach you it’s rude to leave weapons on the table?” Syn shot back.  
The woman strode past Syn, reaching over his head to snatch the bottle of wine from the table, swigging deeply from it as she moved to sit next to Ezra. Up close, she could see and smell the obvious signs of hard travel. No doubt she’d just returned from a journey, still smelling like snow and darkness. As she sank into the chair, she glanced Ezra over, taking another big gulp of wine, saying nothing.  
“Tempara, this is Lana,” Noir said. “She’s staying with us for a while.”  
The woman merely inclined her head and went back to her wine, reaching across the table to grab a chunk of meat cut from a roast of sorts. “I’m assuming since she’s here, you trust her then?”  
Noir nodded. “Truthfully, I owe her my life.”  
“Then I won’t bother pretending that weapon isn’t what it is. The Yajora will notice it’s gone any day now if they haven’t already.”  
“I’ll find a team for you to lead to valiantly return their lost relic,” Noir said.  
Ezra had the feeling she’d stumbled into far more than she’d thought. It sounded suspiciously like Tempara had just stolen that axe at Noir’s instruction. And it sounded suspiciously like they were going to return it and play the hero when they did.  
“Did we decide who stole it?” Quin asked.  
“Bandits,” Syn said.  
At the same time Suri said, “Thieves.”  
Noir swirled the wine in his glass, smirking. “You’re both wrong. Pirates.”  
“Pirates?” Suri snorted.  
“Why would the Kilvarr help retrieve a stolen weapon from so far away?” Ezra asked before she could think better of it.  
Noir met her gaze, mischief in those iridescent eyes. “Because we in Iridania value history and the preservation of all that has happened. We would do anything to help our neighbours retrieve the weapon of Marrys Alwend.”  
Though Ezra had not been taught to use the Amoratti power, she knew the original thirteen Amoratti by name, one for each clan and then four seemingly random to keep things interesting. Marrys Alwend was the first known Yajoran Amoratti, and was revered as a god for it, as they all were.  
“You’re telling me that,” she pointed to the battle axe that, though mighty, didn’t appear mythical, “is the weapon Skullcleaver?”  
“That it is,” Tempara said, crossing her legs and leaning back in her chair, gloved hand still on the wine bottle. “I should know, I had one hell of a time breaking into the tomb to retrieve it.”  
It shouldn’t have surprised her, and yet somehow it did. The woman was a grave robber. A thief. But there was one thing she couldn’t figure out.  
“Why?”  
“If I ask you to trust me, do you think you could?” Noir asked.  
The entire situation was unusual, not one she could have ever predicted. Then again, she would never have predicted becoming Amoratti, nor being on the run from her father. In a world of strangeness, what was one more risk?  
“If I say yes, will you explain?”  
A wry smile crossed his lips, and instead of answering right away, Noir sipped his wine. “Perhaps I’ll agree if you accept the training we’re willing to give.”  
A trade, she realized.  
“I suppose that’s fair,” she mused, curious as to why exactly he was so insistent upon the subject. “Just remember what I said.”  
Beside her, Tempara leaned back to look at Syn. “What did she say?”  
Syn leaned back in his own chair to reply. “She threatened him.”  
Nodding, Tempara leaned forward again and wordlessly filled Ezra’s glass with wine.  
Shaking his head, Noir drained his wine and reached for a plate of meat. “I very much need a meeting with the Yajora, but so far they’ve refused any kind of talks. They won’t even answer my letters. This way, they’ll owe us a favour.”  
“You’re going to all this trouble for a meeting?” Ezra gaped.  
Noir shrugged. “What can I say, I take my meetings very seriously.”  
“Obviously,” Quinlan groaned from where he sat, holding his empty glass out to Suri, his bruises stark against the light.  
Noir’s demeanour darkened, fingers curling into a fist. “I specifically look forward to speaking with the Korilan.”  
“You mean you’re looking forward to watching them scramble to try and justify what they did,” Suri said, filling Quinlan’s glass to the brim.  
Clove, who had fallen silent at Tempara’s appearance, uttered a growl, tail slashing again. Syn curled his lip. Tempara’s hand rested on a blade.  
They were a family, Ezra realized. A tight knit group ready to defend their own at any cost. The only family she’d ever truly had had been Therik and Uri. She didn’t consider Seveyan anything other than a sperm donor, and she could hardly remember her mother, only the horrible things that had been said about her. What was it like to have someone willing to fight for you like that, willing to come together despite their differences or arguments?  
The axe gleamed in the light. There must have been an extremely important reason for stealing it, one that would affect the Heart in one way or another.  
“I, for one,” Quinlan said, lifting his glass in an already unsteady hand, sloshing a few drops onto the hard wood table, “think now is a good time to get raging drunk and try our hands at axe throwing.”  
With the tension broken, the court began to relax.  
“Axe throwing is usually done with much smaller weapons,” Syn said, raising a brow.  
Shrugging, Quinlan took a big gulp of wine. “If you think you can’t lift it we can go fetch the smaller ones.”  
Saphira chuckled and exchanged a glance with Suri across the table a second before they stood and disappeared to a small room against the wall, returning a moment later with their arms loaded with liquor bottles.  
From there, the dinner devolved into drunken laughter, good natured insults, and a ridiculous amount of weapons thrown around the room. Apparently, this wasn’t the first time such an idea had crossed one of their minds, as the entire back wall was thick wood that had simply been covered by a tapestry, targets painted or pinned to it. Suddenly, Saphira’s admission that they all wore weapons to dinner didn’t seem as strange.  
Noir had rolled up his sleeves to throw knives, and it could have been the wine but Ezra swore she could see his forearms shimmering slightly, while Saphira had tied her dress higher around her legs so as not to trip on it. She and Suri had both lost their shoes at some point.  
Contrary to what Quinlan had suggested, no one used Skullcleaver. It stayed on the table in the middle of the room, untouched as if they wouldn’t dare disrespect it. While the others had begun taking turns throwing daggers and other small knives and projectiles, Ezra had stayed at the table, slowly sipping wine and staring at the legendary weapon. An Amoratti weapon.  
“You know,” Syn said, appearing beside her and pulling a chair out, sitting in it backwards and resting his arms over the back, “legend says there’s kernels of power left imbued within an Amoratti’s chosen weapons.”  
Pushing a wine bottle closer to him so he could reach, Ezra crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in her chair. “I’ve heard the stories, but I’ve never had the pleasure of being so close to one in person.”  
“Aren’t you curious?”  
“About the axe?”  
“About the power.”  
The force just beneath her skin flickered as it always did when she acknowledged it, restless once again. She shouldn’t have drank as much as she had, she knew that. Alcohol loosened secrets from anyone’s lips, and she had far too many to risk.  
“I’m as curious about the power as I am a venomous snake,” she said, eyes drifting back to Skullcleaver. “I’m interested, but I’ve no desire to get close.”  
Syn nursed the wine, voice dropping as he asked, “How did you come about receiving the power?”  
“No.”  
He frowned at her.  
Turning her head to meet his gaze, she said again, “No. This is not a conversation to have tonight.”  
Wordlessly, Syn nodded and dropped the subject. He sipped his wine and glanced over as a particularly loud thump sounded, the impact of Tempara’s throwing knife in the wall. While his gaze was focused on Suri wrenching a handful of daggers out of the wall, Ezra glanced back to the table, contemplating the wine a moment longer. From the room where Suri and Saphira had gotten the liquor, Clove appeared with a fresh bottle in hand, one he held onto as he slunk out the door without so much as a wave to the rest of them, looking less than thrilled.  
Not seeming to have noticed the departure, Syn stretched, rolling his shoulders and tilting his neck to crack it. “As fun as this is, I’m calling it a night. Can I show you back to your room or would you prefer to stay longer?”  
Pushing up from her chair, Ezra smoothed the dress and patted her thigh, reminding herself her dagger was still tucked safely against her. “I think I’m done as well.”  
Syn stood and wandered over to where Noir and Quinlan were speaking. Well, Noir was speaking. Quinlan was slurring so prominently it was hard to tell if he was even speaking the common language or if he’d slipped into whatever his native tongue may be.  
With a quick word to Noir, Syn excused himself, Ezra following along behind him, nodding to Noir and smiling at Saphira as the princess waved at her, grinning.  
As soon as they slipped from the room, the air became cooler, the hallway quiet as Syn led the way.  
Oil lamps lit the way, each one casting enough light as to only leave a small dim area between them. As nice as it was to have an evening without being starved or freezing or worrying about animals in the dark, the dinner had been too… normal. Especially as an outsider, she felt as if she’d been watching a vision of a group of friends having a casual evening. Was this truly what the Kilvarr and his court did?  
“I know we’re a bit much when we’re all together,” Syn said as he walked, breaking the silence. “But they’re all good people, and I trust each of them with my life.”  
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked, glancing sideways at him.  
He snorted, a small smirk pulling up his lips as he met her gaze. “Because I can see the look on your face, and I don’t blame you for feeling the way you do.”  
“I’m sure you don’t know what I’m really feeling,” she said, carrying on.  
The familiar door of her room came into view and she paused with her hand on the door as Syn leaned against the wall.  
“So why don’t you tell me what you’re feeling?”  
Fuck.  
That smile, that cocky smirk, those eyes. It was the wine, she knew it was just the wine, but he was… pretty.  
She swallowed, focusing on his eyes. “Tired,” she said simply.  
The smile broadened and he pushed off the wall, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Then I wish you sweet dreams, and I look forward to training tomorrow.”  
Ezra frowned. “Tomorrow?”  
“Tomorrow,” he confirmed with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Goodnight, Lana. I’ll see you at dawn.”  
Deciding Syn had to be a sadist and perhaps even a masochist to put both of them through that after a night of drinking, Ezra shook her head and closed the door, locking it behind her.


	8. Chapter 8

The thumping had been going on forever. Irritating, loud, and repetitive, punctuated by the muffled sounds of a male voice. Forcing her eyes open and blinking through the haze, she remembered where she was, and why her head hurt so fucking bad. Groaning, she sat up, resting her head in her hands for a long moment as the banging continued.   
“Lana,” came Syn’s deep timbre from the other side of the door.   
“Fuck off,” she begged.  
Laughter came from the hallway. “Get moving, Lana, we’ve got shit to do.”  
Though she couldn’t remember drinking all that much, her head told a different story, one of being trampled beneath a six horse carriage. She’d never been a big drinker before being out on her own, and never had access to alcohol once she was on the run. I’m all honesty, her headache shouldn’t have been a surprise. It was still unpleasant as hell though.   
Dragging herself up, she moved to the bathing room and poured hot water into a cloth to wash her face. She’d had no idea just how much she’d missed such comforts until yesterday. Somehow, washing her face felt even better today. It took only a moment to change into her shirt and pants, make sure she had her knife, and open the door to meet a man who was far too awake this early in the day.  
“You look like shit,” he chuckled.   
And to think, she’d almost called him pretty last night.   
“And you are disgustingly perky this morning,” she grunted.   
“Oh, you have no idea,” he grinned.  
Syn led her to a small outdoor arena he’d briefly mentioned on the tour. A storage shed was built against the wall of the palace, and despite the snow, training dummies and targets were set up in various spots. She’d expected him to stop there, but he continued on. Following him in silence, she could see the soft golden hue of the sun finally rising behind the mountain after a month of darkness.   
“Noir mentioned you’d been alone in the dark for some time,” Syn said, not even out of breath as they climbed the ridge.   
Snow crunched beneath her boots as she followed him up carefully, with only the silhouette of his figure and the barely there glow of the sun. Finally, they crested the hill, standing at its peak, glittering snow covered branches seeming to shake off the cold as the sun rose behind the mountain, creating a brief halo as the stars began to fade and the light began to build. Ezra’s breath caught in her throat as the sun peeked over the mountain, casting the first beams of light across her face in what felt like years. The warmth kissed her cheeks, the light made her eyes water, and for a moment she stopped breathing as everything was right in the world for a moment. The sun was a warm embrace after an age in darkness, the beams a loving caress.   
“The dark will always end,” Syn said, gazing toward the sun. “One way or another, the sun always rises.”   
She looked at him, the sun lighting up his smooth dark skin, his eyes all but glowing with the light. “Thank you,” she whispered.  
Syn smiled. “Don’t thank me yet, we haven’t even started training.”  
***

It was settled, Syn was officially a sadist. There was no other explanation for the rigorous torture he was putting her through. It blew her mind that the man who had shown her the sunrise had then subjected her to hours of her exercise, none of which her ruined body was ready for. By the time they’d gotten through the stretches her muscles had begun aching. By the time they finished jogging around the arena, her legs were weak. And by the time they’d gotten to sword play, it had taken only a handful of minutes for her arms to begin shaking.   
His sword rang against her own as the impact shuddered down her arms. It took both hands and all her strength to hold off what she knew was only half hearted attacks from Syn. And though he wasn’t using his full strength, he wasn’t letting up on the strikes.   
“You must have some kind of sword training if you’re a trader,” he said, not even out of breath as he brought his sword down against hers.  
Grunting as the blade slid against her own, Ezra tried to hold her ground, to free her blade and make a parrying strike, but only managed to stumble. “Minimal,” she panted, straining against the weight of his blade.  
In one smooth movement, Syn locked his blade against the guard of hers, twisting and forcing her sword from her hands. The iridescent sword hit the sand, gleaming in the sunlight as she stared down at it. For a moment the only sound was her breathing, louder than the sounds of the birds awakening from their Velarian slumber.   
“The sword slipped,” she said as Syn stepped closer.   
As she bent to retrieve it, he said, “The sword is not the problem. When is the last time you received any training?”  
Ezra pressed her lips together, brushing sand off the blade so she wouldn’t have to look at him. “I… don’t remember. I was only taught the most basic of skills, and that was… years ago.”  
Though Therik and Uri had enjoyed passing on their knowledge, they’d only taken enough time to teach her how to hold a sword and swing it. Neither had had time to teach her more. Therik had believed she should learn, but Seveyan had denied it, shutting her in with tutors that taught her things she’d deemed useless at the time, things such as sewing and cooking. And Uri… well, Uri always believed a woman shouldn’t have to lift a sword. It wasn’t that he thought they couldn’t, but he’d been raised as a protector. Sometimes he took it too far. What she wouldn’t give to have him coddle her again, if only for a moment.   
“You’re telling me the trading group you traveled with accepted you into a high risk job with not only the threat of bandits and thieves, but every animal the wilds had to offer with no prior training.”  
He raised his sword again, and Ezra mirrored the movement a second before he slammed his blade into hers. Her very bones shook at the impact, harder than before.  
“Answer me.”  
Her heart hitched in her chest at the guttural growl in his voice. Amber eyes blazed into hers as he pulled his sword free and struck again.   
Ezra’s arms shook with exhaustion as she barely held her own against him. This was too much, too real.   
“Lana,” Syn demanded.  
When he pulled the sword back again, she dropped her own, darting out of reach as her heart hammered against her chest. Her lungs weren’t getting enough air, she couldn’t think straight. Her eyes burned. Her hands itched.  
Syn took a step toward her, whatever he was saying was lost to the roaring in her ears.   
“I can’t… I can’t…”  
That was her own voice in her ears, ragged and broken. The only words she could utter as she backed away.  
Syn approached her, and all she could think was that she needed to keep the distance between them, needed to stop him.   
He said something again, a noise that might have been the fake name she’d given. She was lying to all of them, right to their faces. Maybe he’d found out, maybe he was going to kill her for it. A twisted end to whatever game he and Noir had been playing.  
Syn dropped the sword and held his hands out to her. Hands, she imagined, he was about to wrap around her throat.   
No. No, no, no.  
Her hands ached, the force beneath her skin screaming to be released. In the next second, her grip on it slipped, and a wave of power lashed out between them.  
The sand of the arena whipped up in a swirling wall between her and Syn a second before she sent it all flying through the air in one uncontrollable punch. The sand shot backward, taking Sun with it. His body arced through the air of the arena for an unbearably long second before hitting the ground with a heavy thud, sand raining down around him.   
Fuck. Fuck!  
She’d killed him. She’d fucking killed him.   
A low chuckle rang through the arena, forcing Ezra to focus once more. Several meters away, Syn was slowly sitting up, coughing and laughing.   
“There you are,” he wheezed, then coughed again.   
It struck her then that he’d been taunting her, goading her into showing her power. No doubt he and Noir had spoken of her lack of control, her hesitancy to use it. Anger replaced fear.   
“I could have killed you!” she snarled.  
Syn pushed himself up, wiping at his bloodied nose and smirking. “Darling, I’m a bitch to kill.”  
“You’re a bitch, I’ll give you that much,” she snapped before she realized what had come out of her mouth.  
Instead of being angry, instead of lashing out with an insult of his own, Syn laughed, that deep rumbling sound that reverberated in her bones.   
Ezra rubbed her hands across her face, wiping the dirt and tears and the fear away. He hadn’t been looking to truly hurt her, he’d been trying to coax her power out the only way he knew how; brute force.   
“We seriously need to work on your people skills,” she said as her chest slowly loosened.   
“I’ve no interest in dealing with people,” Syn said, retrieving his heir swords and moving to the weapons rack to wipe them off and return them. “Too much effort.”  
Ezra shook her head in disbelief.   
“We’re done for today,” Syn said, carefully cleaning the swords, no regards to his bleeding nose or split lip. “We’ll continue at the same time tomorrow.”  
Unable to find the energy to care that she’d be up before the sun once again, Ezra simply nodded and walked away.  
“I’m sorry,” Syn called after her, making her pause. “I know that method wasn’t the best, but Noir was right when he said you were afraid of the power. You waited until you thought you had no options left to use it. We’re going to change that, make the power something you can rely on instead of turning to as a last resort.”  
Ezra simply nodded, not ready to forgive him just yet.   
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, leaving him alone in the arena. 

***

The forest rumbled around her with the beat of hooves as her father’s men hunted her down. Ezra ran from the thunder and death behind her, boots slipping on the dead leaves still damp with the melting snow. The blood of her brother stained her hands, a permanent reminder of what she’d done.   
Kinslayer.  
Murderer.  
Thief.  
Each one a name she’d earned with one choice, one action that had fully destroyed her life. Any chance of peace she could have had had evaporated as she’d sunk her blade into her brother’s chest.  
Perhaps it was pathetic to feel pity for herself, mourning the life she could have had. Her heart still beat in her chest, the same could not be said for her brother.   
The world rippled around her, and suddenly she was trudging through snow that sucked at her boots, making her legs heavier than she could lift. The sounds of her pursuers did not slow, unhindered by the muck that kept her in place. Ezra sank, the snow climbing higher up her legs, consuming her thighs and her hips. It didn’t matter how hard she struggled, all too soon the snow had swallowed her whole, melting into water that sloshed down her throat, choking the air from her lungs.   
It didn’t matter if she could escape from one death, another would be waiting right around the corner, waiting to snatch her up in its deadly grip. It was what she deserved, after all.   
There was a part of her that knew it was a dream, a nightmare, that none of it was real, but the fear and the anguish was. It seeped into her bones, into her heart, a black stain on her soul.   
Therik’s eyes flashed before her eyes, full of pain and desperation. Choking on her tears, Ezra tried to fight what she knew came next, the endless repeating of the same events. Over and over again, her blade caught the light as she raised it, as she sank it into her brother’s chest and watched the light fade from his eyes. Those eyes that had once held so much love and humour, now empty and dull, staring at nothing as his life left him.   
The nightmare began to repeat once more.   
It was the soft rumbling of the palace that finally managed to pull her from sleep, jarring her awake at the outside intrusion. Panting and sweating, she’d never been so grateful to an earthquake than she was at that moment. Ezra sat up, pressing her back to the wall.   
The nightmares were nothing new. They’d haunted her sleeping hours for well over a year now. But she hadn’t had one in… well, since before she’d met Noir. It had been more about survival than thinking too much of her past the last few months. But now that she’d had more than a day of peace… There was a part of her mind she knew would never let go of the past, would always force her to relive it in the most painful way possible. Every nightmare shredded her soul anew, sinking razor sharp claws in and tearing her asunder.   
Warmth streaked down her cheeks, and she realized she’d been crying while she dreamed. Wiping at them, Ezra pressed her head into her hands, calming herself breath by breath.

***

Across the palace in his own room, Noir stared up at the ceiling as the palace trembled ever so slightly. Truthfully, he should have been used to it by now; it had been happening for months at this point. But the knowledge of what it meant, of what was to come, left him cold and restless. The need to do something and the realization that he was already doing all he could made his skin crawl. There had to be something more he could do, something that wouldn’t start a war between nations.   
Within the Amoratti web, he could feel the faintest pinprick of fear, deep rooted and unrelenting. One of the others, no doubt on the same thought path as he was.   
How could he ever find them all?   
Each one was a piece to a puzzle thousands of years in the making, and only the finished product would reveal if they were to live or die horribly.   
It wasn’t enough. None of it was.   
Time was running out, he could feel it in his very being, in every tremble and shudder of the palace.   
Not enough.  
Noir swung his legs out of bed, standing and pulling on his hunting leathers.  
He just needed to think. There had to be something more he could do.  
The palace library had always put him at ease. The countless stories and histories were a comfort to be surrounded by, silent companions in a world filled with too much noise. But it was not this library he was searching for, but the one hidden beyond. Technically, it was all one library, but after a certain point, the stacks became dark and the dust thicker. And behind the point where the books were kept lurked the protectors of the ancient texts. To say they were rather irritating to deal with without killing was an understatement. But this was not the first time Noir had gone looking for answers, and he was positive it would not be the last.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyways I love Antonia

Antonia Lavencia stepped from the deck of her ship, her boots tapping on the ramp as she made her way down to the dock. At one hip was a sword, at the other a widow-maker, a projectile weapon so rare it was said only ten existed in the entire world before the secrets of its creation had died with its maker. But in the land of Valdysia, any advantage one could get was a blessing.   
She pulled her hat from her head, smoothing back her red and black curls with her bandana before returning the brown leather to her head. Behind her, two dark shadows of her crew fell into line to flank her on either side, both enormous in size and bearing as many tattoos as she herself did.   
The dock, previously filled with workers, became suddenly bare as she made her way to the tavern just up the hill. The tavern was as old and worn as its proprietor, with wooden walls that had once held colour but now were only a drab grey. Many buildings on the island looked similar, each in their own states of disrepair. Once an old trading hub, Shenmar had fallen out of favour with the locals after it was discovered their ships were skimming from trade deals. The Heart had begun limiting trade with them, accepting only essentials they couldn’t get anywhere else. And that fucking Kilvarr did one hell of a job keeping their profit low. But seeing as no other trade was legal, there was no other choice but to submit.   
Antonia’s real profit came from the less than legal trading she did. Drug running, smuggling, transporting people who didn’t want to be found. That was her kind of work, and she was godsdamned good at it. The only thing that troubled her was when clients assumed they could get away without paying, or rat her out to the rulers of the land. But they were rulers of the land, she was ruler of the sea.   
Pushing the tavern door open, she was greeted by the smell of a fire, home cooking, and the stale scent of booze. The inside was as drab as the outside, the yellow flicker of firelight dancing across the wooden tables. Her eyes immediately fell on the man sitting alone with his back to the door, firelight silhouetting his frame as he lifted a mug to his lips with a shaking hand.  
Antonia smiled, gesturing to her companions to flank her. She sat across from the man with a flourish, crossing one leg over the other and leaning an elbow on the table.  
“Nice to see you again, Rom,” she said.  
The man flinched at her honeyed voice, setting his drink down. “A-Antonia, I-“  
Smoothly, she reached across the table and wrapped her fingers around the mug, dragging it closer to her. Drumming her fingers along the rim, she cocked her head. “I was so disappointed not to hear from you after our little deal.”  
Rom shuddered, swallowing hard and averting his gaze as he stumbled for words. “I- I- Antonia, I’m sorry.”  
She grinned, a deadly, ruthless thing. Oh, how she loved to watch them squirm. “I’m sure there is a very good reason why. After all, it would be… well, it would be quite stupid if you to intentionally fuck me over. Now wouldn’t it?” She sipped from his mug and raised a brow. “Oh, Rom, this is positively disgusting. And I’ve drank some disgusting shit in my time.”  
“I can explain,” Rom said, sweat bearing on his forehead as he glanced around, spotting both her companions.   
“I quite look forward to this,” Antonia said, taking another sip of his drink.   
“W-we left the dock and went around the coast like we agreed,” Rom said. “But when we got to port there was no one there. The town was in shambles. Right as we were about to leave, we were attacked.”  
She loved the wild stories sailors came up with to try and placate her. Truly, there was no finer sound than a man pleading a woman for mercy.  
“It was mages,” Rom said, eyes wild.   
Antonia sobered, meeting his gaze for a long and silent moment.   
“I swear it,” Rom said, eyes darting around the room as he leaned in, lowering his voice. “It’s the only thing that explains it.”  
The pirate leaned closer, gesturing for Rom to do the same. He did, glancing over his shoulder as he waited for her to speak.   
“Now I know you’re full of shit,” she hissed.   
Antonia slammed his head against the table, hearing his nose crunch as it broke, followed by his cry of pain and shock as he grabbed for his face.   
Antonia leaned back, drumming her fingers on the table, rings flashing in the firelight. “Where is my product, Rom?”  
“They took it!” Rom spat through the blood.  
Antonia’s eyes snapped fire as she curled her lip. “Who?”  
“Fucking mages,” he whimpered.  
Sighing her disgust, Antonia stood, pulling the widow-maker from its sheath at her side and placing it on the table. “You know what this is, aye?”  
Rom nodded.  
“Then you know a single round from it will eat you from the inside out in a matter of seconds. Judging from what I’ve heard… it’s a rather painful way to go.” She let her words sink in as Rom met her gaze again. “You’ll take me there, and you’ll show me just what befell the town. Then you’ll find me my product. Or you and my widow-maker here will become acquainted. You’ve a day to get your shit in order, and then we set sail.”  
Another silent nod.  
Setting the gun back in its sheath, Antonia moved to leave, pausing and glancing back. “I’m sure I don’t have to say it, but don’t run, Rom. Poor Yohan here gets irritated when you run. Might do something as drastic as break your kneecaps to keep you from doing it. He’ll help you pack.”  
Yohan needed no other orders, staying behind to keep an eye on Rom as Antonia left. She strode back toward the docks perfectly content with herself. But the mountain beside her felt otherwise.  
“Out with it,” she said to her.  
Lasahr pursed her lips, staying silent a moment longer before finally speaking. “He pissed himself.”  
Antonia laughed. “Did he now? I hadn’t noticed.”  
“When he spoke of what he’d seen, Ann,” Lasahr said, firmly but not argumentatively. “When he spoke of the mages.”  
“You don’t believe that shit he was spouting, do you?” Antonia raised a brow.   
Lasahr glanced sideways at Antonia, her silence speaking what she would not.   
Running her tongue over her teeth, Antonia looked toward the ship where the rest of her crew waited. “I’ve never known you to be the superstitious type, Lasahr.”  
The woman shrugged.   
Her ship, lovingly called the Bastard, loomed ahead, all worn wood and artistry. It was darker than most ships, using planks from the Blackwood to strengthen it. Even the blood red sails had been custom made, commissioned from a two thousand year old sailor who promised he’d spent his entire life on the ocean. Antonia would have called his claims that he made the best sails false, except for the small fact that since she’d commissioned them, they had never broken, never torn, and always found the wind waiting for them. Even the figurehead, the likeness of the patron of the sea, had been crafted with the utmost care and respect.   
As they reached the gangplank Antonia turned, stopping in front of Lasahr, the Korilan woman pausing. “Do not speak of this to the others. I can’t have them wasting their minds on silly superstitions when they need to be focused on getting me my fucking product back.”  
“You didn’t ask,” Lasahr said softly.  
“What?”  
Lasahr looked at her and said, “You didn’t ask what mages could possibly want with thousands of pounds of Reaper.”  
“I don’t give a shit what they want because it’s not fucking mages that have it,” Antonia hissed.   
Instead of fighting, Lasahr simply nodded in submission. Antonia turned and continued up the gangplank.  
Robyn bounced up to her the moment she was back on board. “Did you get it back?”  
Antonia snorted and rested her hand on the girl’s braided head. “Soon, little bird.”   
An orphan, Robyn had been barely nine when Antonia had found her cowering in the ruins of a burned down shack off the coast. The dwindling smoke had been visible offshore, and had warranted investigation, as it was unnervingly close to one of Antonia’s stashes. But as it had turned out, the shack that Robyn and her parents had called home had caught fire in the middle of the night, leaving the adults to die in the blaze. It was a mystery just how Robyn had survived, if she’d ran or already been out of the cabin when the fire started. It was something the child had never spoken of, and it was not something any of the crew pushed her to speak of. There was a respect for boundaries among the crew, even if they respected no others in existence. But those who called the Bastard home were considered family, and family cared for one another.   
Robyn was now nearing seventeen, and was growing into a fine young pirate indeed, even if she sometimes sassed Antonia to no end.   
“Where is it?” Robyn asked, following along beside Antonia as she made her way to the bow, allowing the sea-salted air to wind through her curls as she looked out over the gently rolling water.   
Leaning against the railing, Antonia raised a brow at Robyn, saying nothing as she folded her arms over her chest. It took the girl a moment to realize what the pirate was waiting for, and she sheepishly smiled, pulling a handful of jewels from her pocket and holding them out to Antonia.  
“How’d you know?” she asked as she dropped the stolen jewels into Antonia’s waiting hand.   
“I know what a thief’s pockets look like,” she said as she picked through the jewels, pulling a ring with a small glittering ruby from the pile and slipping it onto her pinky finger. She handed the rest back to Robyn, smirking. “Good haul.”  
“Thanks-“  
“But I’ve told you not to leave the ship without telling anyone,” Antonia said, folding her arms once more and glancing sideways at the girl. “I’ve not got the time for a roll-call every time we leave port. What if we’d left without you?”  
“You wouldn’t leave without me,” Robyn challenged, trying to diffuse the confrontation with humour.   
“Perhaps not intentionally,” Antonia said, then considered before adding, “Most days, anyway.”  
“Hey!” Robyn gaped.  
“What if you’d been caught?” Antonia asked.  
Robyn paused before offering a cocky grin. “You’d come break me out, of course.”  
“You know some favour cutting off thieve’s hands,” Antonia mused, again looking out over the glittering water. “You’d be of no use to me crippled like that, not with your responsibilities.”  
Robyn fell silent for a long moment. “I’m sorry.”  
“I don’t want apologies,” Antonia said. “I want you to understand that I have my reasons for everything I say and do. And when I don’t give you explicit permission to leave the boat, I expect you to stay on the fucking boat. Get it?”  
“I do.”  
“Good,” Antonia said, ruffling Robyn’s hair. “Then I have a job for you.”  
Robyn’s entire face lit up. “What is it?”  
“I’d like you to trail Rom, see where he goes and who he talks to.”  
Robyn cocked her head. “I thought Yohan was with him.”  
Resting her arms on the railing, Antonia shrugged. “Yohan has instructions to conveniently lose Rom while gathering his things. I want to see where he goes and who he talks to when he thinks no one is watching. And I don’t know of anyone more inconspicuous and clever than you, little bird. Will you do this for me?”  
Nodding, Robyn grinned. “It would be my pleasure.”

***

It was nightfall before Robyn returned, finding Antonia and Lasahr waiting on the deck with a bottle of whiskey and a box of pilfered goods between them. Antonia bit into an apple as the girl approached, while Lasahr munched on a sandwich with a slab of cheese between.   
“Hello, little bird,” Antonia hummed. “What have you found.”  
Robyn trudged closer, the moonlight reflecting water patterns onto her less than happy face. “Nothing.”  
“Nothing?” Antonia asked.  
Robyn yanked her hood back and reached for a slice of bread, tearing angrily into it. “After Yohan left him, he simply gathered his shit and got ready like you said.”  
“You’re sure?”  
Robyn gave her a droll stare. “I just spent five hours sitting outside his fucking window while he packed a bag and took a nap.”  
Lasahr finished her sandwich and brushed her hands together to free the lingering crumbs. At the same time, Antonia tossed her apple core into the ocean, straightening and resting a hand on her sword. Together, both women walked past the girl, leaving her frowning in confusion after them.  
“Where are you going?”  
“He saw you,” Antonia said simply.   
Robyn jogged to catch up. “There’s no way. I stayed in the dark and I didn’t make a noise.”  
“Rom may be a worm, but he’s been doing this a lot longer than you or I. He knows how to lose a tail, and he damn well knows how to sniff one out. I should have guessed he’d know something was going on when Yohan lost him.”  
Robyn sputtered in disbelief. “Antonia, I- I-“  
“It’s alright, little bird,” she said, gesturing to another of her crew. “I should have known even at his age he wouldn’t expect to be left alone. I need you to take Dolna with you and find Yohan. He should be close to Rom’s place, try the tavern or the night market. He wouldn’t have gone far from you. Lasahr, you’re with me.”  
Lasahr nodded and fell into step beside Antonia as Robyn and Dolna set off together.   
The dock was different at night, lacking the life and energy it had held in daylight, as if the lack of sun had invited out the darker side of Shenmar. Unsurprising, since the port city was home to all kinds of ruffians, pirate, thief, and killer alike. In a lawless city such as this one, you were as likely to have your throat cut in the street as you were to be the one cutting the throat.   
The moon hung over the sleeping city, the sounds of music drifting from homes, the sounds of fighting drifting from taverns. The scent of piss and alcohol never quite left, a warning to any who dared venture near of what they could expect. Rom’s small home had been bought with blood money from all those he’d gutted on the open ocean. Once a powerful and feared pirate, he’d fallen into line like so many others once Antonia had risen into her own power. Most would call her manipulative and two-faced.   
Most would be right.  
She’d made the man bow alongside the others who called themselves pirates or privateers. There were some perks to being favoured by Beral, god of elements and nature. But it was her silent deal with the god Zevan that had truly given her power.   
Antonia Lavencia was a bastard through and through, unable to trace her lineage on either side, only knowing her mother had been half Iridanian. Even her last name had been taken from the orphanage in which she’d been raised before stowing away on a ship at the age of seven. The captain of that ship had nearly thrown her overboard at the insult, but had stopped when the once calm skies had darkened with thunderclouds. Taking it as an omen, she’d been allowed to live, unfortunately for those she would grow up to rob and murder.   
The fact that Rom had defied her was one thing, that he’d lost an entire ship of cargo another altogether. Despite his age, despite the fact that he’d submitted to her all those years ago, he’d always held a kernel of rebellion in his heart. She’d seen it in his face, in the twist of his mouth when she said something he didn’t agree with, in the flashing of his eyes and the muscle in his jaw that tightened whenever she was near.   
No, she was not foolish enough to think Rom was a complete idiot, much as she wished that were the case. But what happened next was not something she could have predicted.  
Closing in on his home, Lasahr moved toward the front door, Antonia toward the back. The ramshackle house was two stories high, and she could see where Robyn would have taken up her perch to spy on Rom, a ledge to the side of the window before the roof pitched downward. It was the same spot she herself would have picked. But Rom knew that. He’d known the little bird was there, and she was willing to bet he’d known the second she’d left, faking sleep. If he was still here, there was a reason.   
Drawing the widow-maker, Antonia took up her position at the back door. A moment later, she heard Lasahr break down the front, wood splintering as her powerful foot breached it. There was a thud as the door hit the ground, and the sound of footsteps as the woman moved around the house. After a long moment of silence, footsteps approached the back door, and Antonia knew before the door opened it was not Rom.  
Lasahr swung the door open, frowning. “He’s not here.”  
“Disappointing,” Antonia sighed, sheathing her gun and striding inside.   
It smelled of smoke and alcohol and the unclean little shit who called it a home. The lower level was a living room and meaner kitchen, garbage and papers scattered about haphazardly. Clearly, Rom wasn’t one for organization. Then again, he was clever enough to make it seem so, but have a stash of goods hidden somewhere within the house. Wandering around, Antonia began opening cupboards, tossing things onto the floor.  
Lasahr said nothing, standing guard near the door as Antonia emptied the cupboards, frowning as she found nothing of interest. Surely the man had something of value. Turning her attention toward the stairs, Antonia wondered where the man had disappeared to. Would he have run from her knowing she always found those who owed her?   
The stairs creaked underfoot as she ascended, Lasahr following behind. The bedroom was no different than the downstairs, a mess of scattered clothes, papers, and even weapons lay about. Interestingly enough, there was no sign of the bags Robyn had seen Rom pack.   
“The little fucker is running,” Antonia scoffed in disbelief.   
“Did you not expect him to?” Lasahr asked, raising a brow.   
It wasn’t exactly a surprise, but she’d expected more from Rom. He’d once been feared, it wasn’t like him to turn tail and run.  
“What I expected—“  
Antonia didn’t get to finish the thought as the house exploded.


	10. Chapter 10

The weeks passed swiftly as Velarian slipped into Jhiladia, then into the early days of Beralai. As the snow melted and the ice thawed, the beginnings of new life began to spring into being, tiny plants sprouting through the dead leaves, seeking the sunlight that now glowed freely across the land.   
Ezra had fallen into a routine of training with Syn in the mornings, then spending time wandering around the palace to further get her bearings. Often times, Saphira would show up at her door, inviting her for lunch or tea or for a walk. The princess was charming, all smiles and quick wit. The more she learned about her, the more Ezra came to like her. There was no double-meaning remarks unless she was speaking of the royals where she was from or her family. Her father, it turned out, was also quite the asshole. Ezra could relate, but couldn’t say much of her own life for the sake of her lies. But Saphira never pushed, never pressured about her life, her past. The only subject Saphira kept coming back to was the trading group that had abandoned her, and every time Ezra gave a non-answer. Out of all of them, she hated to lie to Saphira the most. Maybe it was because of the princess's fierce honesty and lack of sugar coating things.   
Often, she was invited to dinner as the Kilvarr’s guest, something she was growing used to as the weeks wore on. Many times, Noir excused himself early to go work, or didn’t show up at all. Saphira or Syn were always there to be the buffer between Ezra and the others, offering ways out when they could see she’d had enough. Though the main group never changed, there was the odd addition to dinner once in a while, a councillor or foreign ambassador sent for talks of trade and such. So far, she’d not seen any from Oraleus, though her heart clenched every time she saw a new face at the table. Of course, she had a multitude of excuses at the ready if she ever did come across one.   
As Saphira led her into the dining room, Syn looked up from the table and smiled at the sight of them.  
Saphira had loaned Ezra a closet full of clothes, gowns she claimed didn’t fit her right anymore but were obviously just fine. Another one of Saphira’s many kindnesses.   
While she’d picked a shimmering violet for herself, Saphira had insisted on a low backed blue gown for Ezra, the fabric silky soft and falling to her feet. Honestly, sometimes she thought the princess enjoyed dressing her up. Then again, Saphira took great pleasure in making herself look nice, and seemed to genuinely like spending time with Ezra. The only downside was the bruises and marks on her skin from training with Syn, who took no mercy on her in the arena. But she was improving.   
As they strode into the room to take their usual seats, Ezra found a stranger among the group, a man with dark hair and eyes. He bore no sigil or crest on his clothes, only the fineness of them told her he was possibly a counsellor she hadn’t met yet.   
Noir’s attention, previously fixed on the man, lifted to Saphira and Ezra as they entered, and he smiled, excusing himself to stand and greet his betrothed, taking her hands and pulling her in for a chaste kiss. If she hadn’t been standing so close to Saphira, she wouldn’t have seen the way Noir pulled back ever so slightly, lips moving quickly as he whispered something unintelligible into Saphira’s ear. The princess smiled as he pulled back, as if he hadn’t said a thing.   
Noir’s gaze flicked to Ezra for a split second before he looked away.   
“Who is our guest, my love?” Saphira asked as she took her place at the table beside Noir.   
Ezra moved to sit at Syn’s left, passing the stranger who smelled of fresh citrus, the Beast Master giving her a wicked grin as she settled beside him.   
“Jeen Kotes, envoy from the Yvori Imari,” Noir said smoothly, pouring Saphira a glass of wine.  
Though Ezra knew very little of the Yvori Imari, she’d never heard of an envoy employed by them, and a male one at that seemed odd, as the wise women were just that. Women. They took apprentices of all genders and races, but they prided themselves on their all female core. But it was none of her business who this man was.   
Syn pulled her attention back to him as he said, “If I’d known you’d be wearing that tonight, I’d have pulled my punches today.”  
Ezra felt a smirk tug at her lips as she said, “I don’t think you’ve ever pulled a punch in your life.”  
That devious light entered his eyes as he cocked his head and grinned. “For you, I just might.”  
“I doubt that,” she replied and sipped her wine.   
It was a game they played, the banter that bordered on flirting. If she were being honest with herself, she enjoyed it immensely.   
There was something so incredibly unarming about these people, their easy smiles and quick charm.   
Suri and Clove were on best behaviour tonight, with no knives or insults thrown and wine drank at a reasonable pace. Tempara merely eyed the man and drank her wine. Whoever this envoy was, they wanted to make a decent impression on him.  
“I trust the journey went well?” Noir inquired, swirling his glass of wine.   
“Aside from the occasional sea storm and narrowly avoided pirate, aye, it went quite well,” Jeen said pleasantly. “Though I’m curious about a city off the coast of Dejova. It appears to have been attacked. Quite devastating, really, there appeared to be little left of it.”  
Saphira’s eyes snapped to Noir for a split second, the panic obvious before she managed to replace it with a mildly concerned facade. “Do you recall the name?”  
“Afraid not, my dear,” Jeen said, shaking his head. “I heard it’s a favoured spot for the Bastard Prince.”  
Setting her glass on the table, Saphira crossed one leg over the other, eyes flashing as she said, “That Bastard Prince, as you call him, is my brother. And you’d do well to remember that, envoy.”  
“Oh, please forgive my terrible manners,” Jeen said, though there was an undertone in his voice that belied his words. “I tend to forget myself. It’s just… well, the rumours.”  
The princess looked ready to sink a blade into the envoy, a sentiment echoed around the table by the expressions of their companions.  
“While I welcome any and all talks of partnership and trade at my table,” Noir cut in, iridescent eyes flashing in warning. “I will not tolerate petty rumours and squabbles, especially those involving the family and affairs of my betrothed. If you take issue with this, then our discussion is over.”  
Ezra watched the newcomer nod wordlessly, hands moving to rest on his lap, though his gaze didn’t look apologetic in the least.   
Noticing her stare, Syn examined the envoy for a moment, taking a long drink before sayin, “Where exactly are you from?”  
“Excuse me?”  
“Where,” Syn asked slowly, cocking his head, “are you from?”  
“Perhaps it slipped your mind, Beast Master,” Jeen said with no small amount of distaste, “but I come from the Yvori Imari on business.”  
“Not what I meant,” Syn said, setting his glass down. “Where were you born?”  
“I don’t see why that’s of any concern-“  
“Oh, but it is,” Syn said, a vicious smile beginning to curve his lips.   
“If you must know, I’m from Somavan originally,” Jeen said, looking insulted.  
“And you’ve been with the Yvori Imari for how long now?”  
“Years.”  
Syn laughed. “See, now I know you’re lying to me.”  
Frowning, Jeen looked to Noir for his reaction, brow furrowing further as he saw none. “Surely you aren’t going to let this half breed dog speak to me like this.”  
Noir merely said, “What did I say about this rudeness of yours?”  
“This dog can smell quite well,” Syn continued. “And you don’t smell like the ocean.”  
“It’s called a bath,” Jeen sneered. “Perhaps you should look into it.”  
Shaking his head, Syn drummed his fingers on the table. “You’ve never traveled across the ocean then. That’s a smell that lingers, even to those who don’t smell as well as I do. The salt, the wind, the lack of trees. Do you know what you can never find on a boat?”  
Jeen stared at Syn, jaw tense. The humour that had lit his eyes was slowly dying away the longer Syn spoke.   
The room fell silent as the seconds stretched on between the two, tension growing thicker by the second until it was almost smothering. Ezra slid her hand to her thigh, resting her hand on her dagger.   
Jeen looked at her, and the coldness that had changed his eyes made her shudder.  
“Fruit,” Syn said.  
The room exploded into chaos then as the stranger who smelled of citrus lunged and—  
Disappeared.  
He reappeared behind Noir a second later, hands glowing with blue energy as he traced a symbol rapidly in the air, a blue flaming sword appearing from the symbol.   
Those at the table leaped into action, drawing weapon or summoning magic, but none were fast enough.  
“For the Saviour!” Jeen cried, bringing the sword down on Noir.  
It bounced off the Kilvarr’s raised forearm, sparking as it jerked back, the shudder reverberating up the envoy’s arm as he staggered back. There was half a second in which the expression of excitement on Jeen’s face faltered, replaced by horror of his failure. He yanked the sword back, only to find Noir had closed his fist around the flaming blade, ignoring, or perhaps immune to the burning of it.   
“You’ll find that your Saviour,” Noir growled, standing and turning to tower over the man, “has no place in these halls.”  
In one swift movement, Noir wrenched the sword from Jeen’s grasp, twisting his arm behind his back and yanking so he had no choice but to turn and face the wall. Noir drew Jeen’s own sword across his throat, spilling blood across the floor in a wet splatter. He let Jeen’s body drop with a thump, tossing the blade, whose flame had gone out, on top of his corpse. Wordlessly, Noir turned and sat again, reaching for water and a napkin, dousing the fabric and pressing it to his wounded hand. Suri moved immediately to his side, weapons forgotten as she pulled his hand towards her. Tempara said something about searching the grounds for more assassins, and disappeared with Clove out the door. Saphira moved to the storage room, returning with a healer’s kit which she promptly passed to Suri.   
Syn settled back into his seat, glancing up at Ezra, who was still clutching her dagger in her hand, staring at Noir’s bloody hands, at the body laying on the floor.  
“Lana.”  
She jerked her head as Syn reached and gently touched a hand to her arm, sliding down to cover her quivering hand with his own. Gently, he pulled the dagger from her fingers, returning it to the sheath on her thigh with careful hands.   
“It’s okay,” Syn reassured.   
Glancing between him and Jeen, she said, “Does that happen often?”  
“More often,” Noir growled from between clenched teeth, “than you’d think.”  
“He wasn’t from the Yvori Imari then,” Ezra said, tearing her gaze away from the body.   
“I knew that from the start,” Noir said. “I’d hoped he might give away more than he did. Then again, someone didn’t exactly play along as I instructed.” Noir threw a glare at Syn.  
“What can I say,” Syn shrugged. “I couldn’t stand the smell of his lies.”  
“Are we not going to talk about the fact that was a mage weapon?” Suri asked as she dabbed alcohol into Noir’s burned hand.   
Ezra blinked. “How did you deflect it?”  
Noir took a drink before extending his arm and flexing his fingers. “Armour.”  
He didn’t explain further, and she could tell he wasn’t in the mood to.   
“You’re alright?” Saphira asked, lowering her voice.   
Noir nodded.  
“I’m going to write to my family,” she whispered. “See if Virin is okay.”  
Squeezing her hand, Noir said something too low to hear, handing her something before releasing her.  
Ezra watched her friend leave, then stood and excused herself, jogging to catch up to Saphira, who had disappeared down the hallway.   
The sound of gasping reached her ears, and her stomach dropped as she rounded the corner to find Saphira doubled over, breathing rapid, shallow breaths.   
“Saph!” she called.   
The princess turned to face Ezra, eyes bright with tears as she sucked in air. There was no blood, there was no poison. Ezra recognized it for what it was, a fit of panic so overwhelming, the princess couldn’t even breathe.  
Ezra reached her, placing a hand on her shoulder. Saphira grabbed her other hand, squeezing as if her life depended on it as she gasped.  
“It’s okay, it’s alright, Saph,” Ezra said, keeping her voice calm. “I’m here, and it’s going to be fine. Just breathe, please, just breathe.”  
Anything that might have soothed her, anything that might have helped her slow her breathing, Ezra gently instructed her.  
“Breathe with me,” Ezra said, inhaling and exhaling slowly.   
After a few minutes, Saphira stopped gasping, holding tight to Ezra, just breathing.  
“If he’s anything like you, he’ll be okay,” Ezra said.   
Saphira choked on a laugh that turned into a sob, lifting her head and wiping the smudged makeup beneath her eyes. “He better be, or I’m going to kill his ass. Him and my—“ She stopped abruptly, wiping her eyes harder. “I need to go write my letter. Could you… would you come with me?”  
“Of course, Saph,” Ezra said, walking alongside the princess.  
Aside from her sniffles and the light tapping of their feet on the marble, the walk was quiet, unusually quiet considering an assassination attempt had just been made.   
“Was Noir telling the truth when he said this kind of thing happens often?” Ezra asked.  
Saphira nodded. “Unfortunately. We don’t know where he truly came from, but it wasn’t the Yvori Imari.”  
Obviously his claims had been a ploy to be allowed into the palace. But how had he known he’d be allowed in using them?   
“Do many others know of your correspondence with the wise women?” Ezra asked.  
Saphira blinked, then frowned. “Aside from the court and the guards, no, not to my knowledge.”  
The princess had realized the same thing Ezra had. How had Jeen known he could use the Yvori Imari to get into the place?   
Saphira grabbed Ezra’s hand, switching direction and dragging her along. “I need to see the envoy papers.”  
Ezra kept pace with the princess all the way to the Kilvarr’s office, an offset from the throne room where all the important documents and records were kept. The guards didn’t even blink as Saphira strode in, Ezra in tow. The princess began rifling through folders, determined to find what she was looking for.  
“Are… am I allowed in here?” Ezra asked, peering around the room chocked full of cabinets and books and papers.   
“You’re my guest, of course you’re allowed,” Saphira said, pulling a thick file from a drawer.   
The room was too… big, too formal and official. It was not a place she belonged. As Saphira rifled through the file, Ezra’s eyes wandered.   
There was a book case against one wall, a desk scattered with stray books and papers beside it. A chair, well worn and beginning to fall apart sat at the desk, pulled out slightly as if Noir had just stood and left a moment ago instead of hours ago. There was a stack of books that looked older than time sitting atop the desk, the titles all but illegible, written in an ancient script she didn’t know. She’d never seen a piece of literature that looked so old it could fall apart at the slightest breeze. Stepping closer, Ezra tried to find the author’s name, wondering if Noir was reading ancient poetry or something of the sort. Somehow, it didn’t seem too unusual for him. Leaning over the table, she spied the edge of a book peeking out from beneath a sheaf of paper. Curiosity getting the better of her, she reached and shifted the paper aside, revealing the embossed leather cover. The tome was thick, dusty with age, pages yellowed with time. The cover was worn leather, words in a swirling dark script decorating it. As if her fingers were drawn to it, Ezra reached out and opened the cover. The pages were just as old as she suspected they’d be, looking one breath away from crumbling. She’d seen the library on her tour of the palace, but even those books hadn’t appeared as old as this one. Where had it come from?   
Flipping the page, Ezra’s heart dropped as the book opened to a depiction of a monster so disturbing, she swore the palace shuddered in response. It was endless darkness and teeth and claws. Even the lifeless rendering brought fear to her heart.  
The Demon.   
The mural on the wall was one thing, the book was entirely another, so ancient it had probably been created in the time of the Demon, or in early Afterfall. It was closer to proof that the Demon had truly existed than Ezra would like to admit.   
“Found it,” Saphira said finally, pulling out a letter.   
Ezra forced herself to close the book and moved to stand beside the princess as she read aloud.  
It was the standard greetings and good wishes, followed by the body of the letter, the choice to send the envoy for talks of how to proceed with future plans and preparations.   
By the end of it, Saphira’s voice had grown strained, her hands shaking.   
“What does this mean?” Ezra asked, as it was obvious Saphira had gleaned more from the letter than she.  
Rubbing her face, Saphira pressed her hand over her mouth for a moment before shaking her head, a mixture of emotion passing over her face before it finally settled into cold determination.  
“It means,” she said slowly, “that we have a spy in the palace. And that you and the court need to have a serious talk.”  
Ezra blanched. “You think I had something to do with this?”  
“No, that’s not what I meant,” Saphira said, splaying her palms in a soothing gesture. “I mean Noir— well, none of us have been entirely truthful with you. And I think it’s best if Noir explains it. He’s the one that knows the most.”

***

Half an hour later, Saphira had penned her letter to her brother, sealing it with the Iridanian crest Noir had given her in the dining room before sending it off. The entire time the princess had spent writing, Ezra’s mind had whirled with questions until her stomach had thoroughly knotted itself to the point of pain. What was going on here?   
It appeared she was about to find out.   
Saphira called the meeting, the court rejoining one another in the dining room, seated one by one at the round table. Someone had removed Jeen’s body and cleaned most of the blood, though Ezra could see drops that had been missed glinting on the marble.   
Taking her seat next to a less than pleased Noir, Saphira crossed one leg over the other and gestured to the wine bottle in front of Ezra. “You might want to pour a glass of that for yourself.”  
Noir glanced between them, looking uncertain.   
“Saph—“  
Saphira held up her hand, cutting Noir off. “We have a problem that cannot be ignored and you are going to explain to Lana what is going on.”  
Noir glanced to his bandaged hand, flexing his fingers and grinding his teeth, seemingly at war with himself for a long moment. Finally, he sighed and met Ezra’s gaze. “The Demon is coming back.”  
Frowning, Ezra glanced to Saphira, then back to Noir. At the table, the others were quiet.   
“The Demon is dead,” Ezra said. “And that’s only if it was ever even real—“  
“It was real,” Noir said, cutting her off as his voice grew grave. “Five thousand years ago, it was real. You know the story of how the clans warred constantly, how, when the Demon came along, they banded together to beseech the gods for help. The Ten answered by gifting the leaders with the Amoratti power, pure energy able to be molded into almost anything.”  
Ezra stared at him. Surely he couldn’t truly believe this nonsense?   
“In the Great War, mages were seduced by the Demon, something in its power infecting them, and creating the Lost as we know them.”  
Ezra shuddered at the mention of the Lost, the shells of power corrupted mages used as a bedtime story to scare children.   
Noir ran his uninjured hand through his black hair, looking exhausted. “The mages are still linked to the Demon, even from beyond the grave. I believe they’re looking for a way to resurrect it.”  
“To what end?” Ezra asked, incredulous.  
“Why does anyone do anything?” Noir said. “They’re looking to gain something from it. Perhaps justice for five thousand years of being shit on by every territory and being hunted down to near extinction has something to do with it. Perhaps it’s taken this long for the Demon to gain enough power to begin to return from the grave. I don’t know exactly. All I know is that we need the Amoratti ready to defend once again.”  
It clicked then.  
“That’s why I’m here,” Ezra said flatly. “Because you want to use me.”  
“Not use, Lana,” Noir said pleadingly. “For the good of Valdysia, the Amoratti must come together. All of us.”  
“Finding me in the wilds wasn’t a coincidence.” It wasn’t a question.   
Noir shook his head. “When you passed into my borders I could feel your power. The Amoratti have a kind of mental link. It usually doesn’t work well between those who’ve never met, or those who don’t trust one another, but you… your power called out to mine. I think it knew you wouldn’t last much longer.”  
Ezra ground her teeth. More lies. More deceptions and ulterior motives.   
“What do you expect me to be able to do?” she growled.   
Noir splayed his hands, face pleading as he looked at her. “I want to help train you to use your power so that when the time comes— and it will come— you’ll be ready to send the Demon back to hell.”  
“By the Ten,” Ezra laughed, though she felt no joy in her heart. “Do you realize how crazy you sound?”  
“Think about it, Lana,” Noir said.  
“You’ve wondered why the palace shakes from time to time,” Syn said from beside her.   
She stared at him. “Not you, too.”  
“The palace is built atop the Demon’s remains,” Syn continued. “Every quake, every rumble and rattle… it’s growing stronger. It’s only a matter of time before it gains enough energy to return.”  
“No, no, this doesn’t make any sense,” Ezra breathed. “What do you mean energy? Where would it get the energy to return?”  
Saphira glanced to the spot Jeen’s corpse had occupied earlier. “Mages,” she said simply.   
“Mages…?” Ezra said, unwilling to believe Saphira was as brainwashed as the others.  
“The Saviour the supposed envoy spoke of,” Quinlan said from his seat across the table, “well, their Saviour is the Demon.”  
“Lana, I know this is a lot—“ Noir said.  
“But you aren’t alone, Lana, not anymore,” Syn said.  
It was too much. Too many lies, too many false words and people.   
The depiction of the Demon from the book lanced across her mind, making her heart pound.   
“Lana,” Saphira pleaded.   
She snapped.  
“Stop calling me that!” Ezra roared, standing abruptly.  
Her chair bolted back in a flare of magic, the wood shattering against the wall into thousands of tiny shards.   
Fuck. Fuck, fuck. Fuck.  
The faces at the table stared back at her as she looked at them one by one, knowing she’d just damned herself. The silence stretched on for an impossibly long moment. Without another word, Ezra darted around the table and fled the room. She ran through the palace with no destination in mind, only that she needed to get out, to get some fresh air, to see the sky.  
She’d underestimated how late it was, as the sky she’d been hoping to see was pitch black, with only a merger moon and handful of stars to light the way. Without paying attention to where she’d gone, she found herself in the stables, surrounded by the soft noises of the beasts, some sleeping, some grazing. She knew Syn would eventually find her here, probably sooner with that nose of his, but there was a peace with the animals, and she desperately needed their calm.   
Of the many mounts, the horses, the drakos, and the wolves, she loved the wolves best. There was a certain power, confidence, and freedom to them she couldn’t explain, as if they knew exactly where they stood in the world. In recent weeks, she’d been helping Syn tend to them, cleaning out their stalls and changing their bedding, helping with feedings and occasionally watching him train them. All the animals had an obvious respect for the Beast Master.   
All but one.  
The stall she slipped into belonged to that one beast, a wolf with no name other than Bitch. She’d been found abandoned in the surrounding area after her mother and siblings had been killed by hunters, leaving her to fend for herself until a trading caravan had found her and brought her to the palace. Syn hadn’t been the one to name her, though he’d made no attempt to change the only name she responded to, even if it was only when she wanted to acknowledge another’s presence.   
Despite her name, she was not a bitch, not to Ezra at least. Then again, Bitch knew Ezra always came bearing fresh bedding and food, never to try and train her.   
As she closed the stall behind her, Bitch cracked one eye open and looked at her with a single yellow eye. The wolves were of the warrior breed, that which had been ridden into battles new and old. A proud breed, Syn had said. Near unbreakable in body and spirit.   
“It’s just me,” Ezra said to the wolf, regretting that she hadn’t grabbed a handful of treats for her on the way in.   
Her grey fur gleamed in the soft light reflected in the stall, and with a slow blink of that eye, the wolf settled once more. Ezra moved to the corner, sliding down until she sat with her knees drawn up. The wolf was huge, nearly the height of a horse when standing, but no taller than her knee with her long legs curled against her body.   
“It’s all so fucked,” Ezra said softly, watching Bitch’s ears twitch as if she were listening. “I thought things were okay. I thought they were getting better. But this is worse than being out there alone.”  
The wolf cracked her eyes open, watching Ezra intently. Unlike Syn, Ezra had never been snapped at by the animal, never even felt threatened by the wolf. The fear of being attacked by her was next to none. Bitch was cranky, but she was peaceful unless provoked. And from the amount of time Ezra had spent with her these past weeks, she was used to her presence.   
“How do I do this?” Ezra asked the wolf, looking pleadingly into her eyes as if she might give an answer.  
The wolf cocked her head, offering no response, only the comfort of her presence. For a few long minutes they sat there together in silence.   
Until a male voice cut through the dark.   
“So what’s your real name?” Syn asked.   
Ezra sighed, lifting her head to find him peering over the stall door, arms resting lazily on top. It wasn’t surprising he’d snuck up on her, though she would have liked some warning from Bitch, who merely twitched her ears at the sound of his voice.   
“Ezra,” she said in defeat.   
She’d fucked up, and deserved whatever came to her as a result.  
“Ezra,” Syn said slowly, as if tasting the name. “No offence, that’s better than Lana. You don’t look like a Lana.”  
“And what do I look like?” Ezra asked, scratching Bitch behind her ears.   
As silent as he’d approached, Syn slipped into the stall, sitting down in the corner across from hers. He toyed with a piece of hay, lifting one massive shoulder in a shrug. His amber eyes caught the dim light and gleamed as he said, “You look like someone who’s lost.”  
Scoffing, Ezra looked away. He wasn’t wrong. She’d been lost for a long time, both in the literal and figurative sense. Lost in guilt, lost in worry, lost in fear. Fear had been her master, her constant companion for her entire life. And she was tired of it. Whatever came next, be it imprisonment or death, she would face it.  
“The thing about all lost things,” Syn said softly, still toying with the straw, “is that they have a home waiting for them somewhere.”  
Of all the things that could have come out of his mouth, she’d not expected that. Searching his eyes, she found no hint of dishonesty, no flicker of cruelty or trickery. There was just Syn.  
“I know the world is not what you expected, it’s not what any of us expects,” he said. “It’s not something we can ever truly prepare for. The life, the loss, it’s all a learning process. But you are not alone. Not unless you choose to be.”   
Syn released the straw, holding a hand out to her, palm up.   
The hole in her chest, the one that had cracked open long before her brother’s death and had shattered into an immeasurable chasm after, suddenly felt smaller, as if one tiny shard had been replaced.   
An offer. A chance at salvation.   
A hand extended to pull her from the depths.   
The memory of her vision flickered across her mind, the hope and love she had felt for that brief second.   
“Will I regret this?” she whispered.  
“Gods, I hope not,” he said softly.  
She looked to his hand, still extended between them. Already, she had come so far. From fleeing from her father’s men to starving in the forest, to sleeping in a palace surrounded by people who believed in something.   
Lifting her hand, she hesitated, staring at the space between them, the scar flecked dark skin of Syn’s hand, all power and strength, to the slender paleness of her own. Would it be so bad, to lean on someone again?   
A single pillar, a single strand of rope, was only so strong on its own. But together, working as one, there was strength, the ability to hold up the world.   
Meeting his eyes, Ezra placed her hand in his, his warmth wrapping around her fingers, heating parts of her long left encased in ice.  
Together, they rose.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working retail is wild especially in the days leading up to inventory OTL anyways here’s 5000 words of Antonia dealing with some Fuckery™

In the weeks since the mysterious destruction of the pirate Rom’s house, word had spread quickly of mages, Reaper, and vengeful pirates.  
Antonia didn’t give a shit about any of the rumours other than the ones detailing where Rom was headed.   
Back to the scene of the supposed robbery, according to tavern tales. The prick had no doubt stashed the Reaper with the intent of coming back for it to sell it for himself. After taking a chunk to rig his house with, of course.   
To put it gently, the explosion had fucking hurt, and Antonia wanted nothing more than to make the little wretch pay for it. She’d walked away with cuts, bruises, and a rib that may or may not have been broken. And while her ears had rang for days afterward, she’d been lucky thanks to Lasahr. Beautiful, brave, stupid Lasahr had thrown herself on top of Antonia as the house blew apart, taking the brunt of the damage. Her skull had smashed on the cobblestones, her arm had shattered, a handful of ribs were broken, and her nose had become even more crooked. And still the woman had had the sense to send up an emergency flare of magic to signal the crew before passing out. Antonia had only taken enough time to ensure she was alive and stable before setting out after Rom, whose ship had conveniently disappeared from the docks in the time they’d been gone. Robyn and Yohan had found them within minutes of the blast, the time after becoming blurry with doctors and headaches until finally Antonia had commanded their doctor on board, Tharin, to oversee Lasahr constantly. After that, they’d set sail after Rom.   
Chasing a ship on the ocean wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Especially when the ship in question was never within view. He’d had a head start on them, and it had taken a stop at an ocean-side tavern filled with spies along the coast to discover the locals had seen his ship heading north. Thank fuck for vigilant spies. From there, it had become apparent Rom was heading back to where he’d supposedly lost the Reaper.   
The sky had remained dark and cloudy for the entirety of the journey, though the rain never quite broke through the clouds.   
Without a doubt, Rom knew the crew of the Bastard would come after him, it was only a matter of how fast he could run before they caught up. But Antonia knew how a pirate thought. If he knew just how close they were, he might veer off course to try and lose them. It was what she would do.   
If anyone had noticed the wind in the sails never faltered, but never picked up with the growing storm, none said anything.   
As the last rays of the sun set on the horizon, Antonia stood on the prow, savouring the wind in her hair and the dying light on her face. Not to mention the burning satisfaction that they would be upon the destroyed city by morning, if Rom’s claims were to be believed. Whatever was to come, the stand would be made there.   
“You should get some rest,” Robyn said as she appeared beside Antonia, silent as usual.   
With her arms crossed over her chest, Antonia stared straight ahead, waiting to see Rom’s ship and the sea-side city come into view.   
“It’ll be hours before we reach shore,” Robyn said, as if reading her mind. “You won’t miss anything by getting a couple hours of sleep.”  
“You’re beginning to sound suspiciously like a mother hen, little bird,” Antonia murmured, glancing sideways to smirk at her.   
Even in the dark she could see Robyn’s face flush, as if embarrassed.  
Casting her gaze back along the rolling ocean, Antonia sighed. “Caring is not such a bad thing, except when it is.”  
“Lasahr is going to be okay,” Robyn said.  
“It’s unnerving when you do that.”  
Robyn frowned. “Do what?”  
“Know what I’m thinking before I do.”  
The sea-salted mist brushed against their cheeks, the moonlight glittering upon the waves as the Bastard cut through them.   
Robyn let the silence stretch between them for a moment, shifting from foot to foot, turning her head and pursing her lips as if she were about to say something. Antonia looked at her just as Robyn looked away.  
“What is it, little bird?”  
Her bronze skin glowed in the moonlight that peeled through the clouds, jewels glittering in the thick dark hair she’d twisted into individual locks. Antonia noted the sides of her head could use a fresh shave, then chastised herself for being the very mother hen she’d called Robyn.   
Robyn shook her head, peering across the water. “I’m just… just worried.”  
“About what? Rom?” Antonia snorted. “He got the drop on us once, we won’t let it happen again.”   
Robyn nodded, still looking troubled as they fell into silence once more. The girl was keeping secrets, that much was clear. Normally, Antonia would have pushed her to talk, to explain what was going on. But she had too much on her mind right now. Between her first mate being confined to a bed and hunting a pirate who had no qualms blowing her up, her plate was full. If Robyn was still off after they dealt with Rom, then she’d sit her down for a talk. Or maybe taking her out for target practice with the widow-maker was a better idea. Often, she caught Robyn eyeing the gun, and knew just how much she enjoyed firing it.   
“I’ll take watch,” Robyn said firmly. “You go sleep, at least for two hours. I swear, I’ll come get you if there’s any sign of him.”  
Mother hen, indeed.   
Antonia relented, resting her palm on Robyn’s head for a moment, though she was almost too grown to keep doing so for much longer. “Thank you, little bird.”  
Antonia left Robyn on the deck, crawling into her hammock in her quarters, preferring it over the bed, which she’d been rolled out of more than once due to an unexpected wave. Habit had her pulling the widow-maker from its sheath and keeping it in hand as she folded her arms over her chest. Closing her eyes, exhaustion swept over her, and she hated to admit that Robyn was right. When was the last time she’d actually slept? Sleeping through the night was out of the question, as usual. But once she was done with Rom, she’d set them on course to the Dejovan islands and give the entire crew time to rest.   
Before she could put more thought into it, she was asleep.

***

“Antonia!”  
She was up in a second, gripping the widow-maker and rolling out of the hammock with a practiced ease only years of experience had given her. Her boots hit the wooden planks of the Bastard as she strode onto the deck, slamming the doors of her quarters open to find her crew running to their stations, each of them knowing exactly where to go. From high above, Robyn was sliding down the mainmast in a maneuver no sixteen year old should ever have known how to do. But that came with being raised on the Bastard.  
Robyn’s feet hit the deck and she bolted for Antonia, shouting as she ran. “Explosion off the port side!”  
“Any damage?” How had she not felt the impact?  
“It wasn’t fired at us,” Robyn clarified. “It’s on the shore. A warning, maybe.”  
Antonia’s eyes snapped toward the shore, spying the wisps of smoke that rose from between the trees. Brow furrowing, she moved to the edge of the ship, pulling her spyglass from her belt and peering into it. Through the dense foliage, it was impossible to make out the origin of the blast. Shadows passed across her vision, and only years of peering through the glass gave her the knowledge that it was something living, something running. And more than one, judging by the flickers of light and shadow.   
Rom had no crew, none who called him friend, none who would come to his aid if he called for it. Whoever these people were, they were not his. Lowering the spyglass, Antonia cast her gaze ahead, toward what they were running from. A wave of smoke trailed behind them as they left chaos in their wake.   
Reaper.  
Whoever they were, they had Reaper, and a shit ton of it at that. Antonia was tempted to send a group after them, but she needed her crew to focus on Rom. Once they had him, they could double back and track down whoever the fuck had the Reaper she was willing to bet was stolen.   
It wouldn’t be long now before they caught up to Rom.  
“Keep an eye on the shore,” Antonia commanded, voice ringing out for the whole ship to hear. “Canons and magic at the ready, Bastards.”  
Her crew gave cheers of acknowledgement.   
The ship flew onward as the winds let loose, propelling the crew to their destination. It was little more than two hours before the town loomed ahead.  
Or what was left of it, at least.   
Apparently, Rom hadn’t been lying about that part. The buildings sat in shattered fragments, the occasional support beam all that survived whatever destruction had befallen them. Some looked as if they’d been blown apart by Reaper, while others appeared to have been demolished another way. Though it had been well over a month since the original voyage, the town still seemed to smoulder, trails of black smoke rising in curling whisps skyward, the largest bit seeming to come from the centre of the town.  
“By the Ten,” Robyn breathed, coming to stand beside Antonia. “What could have done that?”  
“Magic.”  
“That’s no magic I’ve ever seen.”  
“Talmor was said to be built atop a shrine,” came a voice from behind them.  
Antonia whirled to find Lasahr limping onto the deck, face bruised and body wrapped in bandages. And though she limped, though she wouldn’t be able to fight in her condition, it soothed Antonia to know the woman was awake and talking, even if it was superstitious bullshit.  
“Done with your nap, Lasahr?” Antonia asked, grinning.  
“Aye, captain,” Lasahr said as she came to stand with them. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”  
Gently, Antonia squeezed the woman’s shoulder, a silent gesture that spoke more than words ever could. Lasahr simply nodded, all the communication that was needed.   
“When the Dejovan settlers tore the shrine down to build the town, the land became cursed,” Lasahr said.  
“Allegedly,” Antonia snorted.   
But Robyn humoured Lasahr, asking, “Cursed how?”  
“The land is fertile, the water is clean, the sun shines upon it all day. The town should be booming with trade and people, and yet it never has. Supposedly, it’s haunted, though I’ve never seen it for myself.”  
Antonia almost asked the woman if she’d like to make a campfire and tell her stories around it, but held her tongue.   
As Talmor loomed closer, she couldn’t help but be wary. Regardless of Lasahr’s beliefs, something had happened here. Whether it be magic or man made disaster, the town had been destroyed. Even the sun seemed to shy away from touching the blackened land, as if it were tainted in some way.   
As the Bastard sailed closer, Rom’s ship came into view, unmistakable tattered sails and worn down wood.   
Antonia’s lips curled up into a wicked smile.   
After the bullshit he’d pulled back in Shenmar, she wasn’t about to let the Bastard get close enough that he could plant the explosive on it. Instead, she ordered the ship to stay back far enough around the curve of land so as not to be easily seen. Ordering the rest of the crew to keep watch for the people in the woods, she strode to the side of the boat. Dropping a skiff into the water, she took Robyn, Yohan, and a handful of others to shore, hiding the small boat and beginning the short trek through the woods that would take them to the town.   
Solid earth beneath her feet had never been Antonia’s desire. Rather, she craved the ocean, the adventures it brought and the power it held.   
The grass gave way to charred land, a thick covering of ash shifting beneath their feet. And it was still falling. In slow, unhurried flakes, ash was drifting from the sky.  
“Where—“  
“Shh,” Antonia hissed to Robyn, pulling both her gun and her sword free.   
Her crew followed suit, lightening their steps as they moved. It was eerily silent, not a bird or bug to be heard, as if all life had been wiped from the area.   
Yohan nearly stumbled over the first body. What appeared to be a ridge beneath the ash was in fact a skull, kicked loose from the rest of the skeleton by Yohan’s boot. Instead of the crisp white of bones, the skull was black, as if it had been dipped in tar. Yohan cursed softly, taking a step back to stare at what had been uncovered.   
The tang of rot and magic drifted into Antonia’s senses.   
“Gods,” Robyn breathed, pulling her neckerchief over her mouth and nose in an attempt to ward off the stench.   
There was no point in telling them the remains may not be from whatever attack had befallen the town. Whatever had hit Talmor had been serious. More than just Reaper had been involved. Magic had been present in the destruction of the town. Malevolent, rage filled magic.   
“Watch your step,” Antonia commanded quietly, stepping over the remains as she continued on into Talmor, ash drifting down into her hair as she went.   
As they trekked further beyond the safety of the trees, the lumps beneath the ash grew in numbers, the occasional piece of bone peeking through, all the same horrible tar black as the first. After a few minutes of walking, Antonia spotted the unmistakable impression of boot prints in the ash.   
Rom.  
Gesturing to her crew, they split off into two groups of three, Robyn and Yohan staying with Antonia while the others set off together on the opposite side of the tracks, using the shadows and the ruins to hide their presence. It took only a handful of minutes to follow Rom’s prints to the remains of what appeared to be a tavern, one of few buildings to retain four walls and a door. Of course the little prick would use a tavern to stash the Reaper. It was the only thing he could always track down, regardless of city or port. The man just seemed to have a nose for booze. Antonia led her group to the door, jerking her head to the second group to circle around the back.   
Antonia flicked her wrist toward the door, and the winds that had been pushing the Bastard onward for days gathered in one small, concentrated force, splintering the wood and blowing the door wide open at her silent command.   
Within, sitting at a table with a bottle of alcohol wrapped in his hand, Rom sighed and leaned back in his seat, slurring, “Was wondering when you’d show up.”  
Antonia raised a brow, hand on the widow-maker as she cocked her head. “Drunk already?”  
“Only way to stomach this place,” Rom said, taking another long swig. “Figured you should at least see what happened.”  
Striding into the tavern, Antonia snatched the bottle from him, taking a drink before wrapping her fingers around the neck of the glass and slamming it across his head. Rom clutched his head, whimpering as blood seeped between his fingers.   
“Where is my fucking product?” Antonia snarled.  
“I fucking told you I don’t have it!” Rom shrieked. “By the fucking Ten, woman. You’ve seen this shit hole, do you still think I’m lying?”   
“I don’t believe you and truth have ever been acquainted, Rom,” she hissed. “Where is it? Or do I have to get another bottle?”  
“Fuck off, you big mouthed cunt,” Rom slurred, standing and staggering.   
“The only cunt I see here is you,” Antonia said, curling her lip. “Give me my product, or that drink you just had will be your last.”  
Rom’s hands drifted over his face as he wiped blood away, his shoulders began shaking in what she could only assume was tears. To her surprise, when Rom pushed his bloody hands back from his face, streaking red through his hair, it was not sorrow or fear on his face, but laughter. Unbridled, insane laughter that lifted his shoulders and left him gasping for air.   
“If you’re so concerned about the product, why don’t you take a look in the woods?” he wheezed.  
“What do you mean?” Antonia snapped even as dread started to sink in her stomach.   
“Oh, come on, captain Lavencia, ruler of the ocean,” Rom spat, beginning to look more and more crazed with every word. “You can’t tell me you didn’t see them?”  
The people in the woods outside of town. She knew without needing to be told that was who he meant.   
“What about them?”  
“You think they just happened upon a cache of Reaper by chance?”  
“What I think,” she said slowly, stalking him around the side of the table, “is that you left a stash here, worked up your bullshit story, and figured you’d come back to collect and sell my shit behind my back.”  
Rom laughed again, a sick, wet sound that devolved into a cough. “I’ve never been a fan of yours, but I’m not exactly starving under your rule, either. Why would I fuck up a good thing at my age? I came back here knowing you’d follow me, so you could see this place for yourself. And still you don’t believe me.”  
“Why should I?” Antonia snorted, drawing the widow-maker and casually checking the rounds within, making sure he saw. “You’re a pirate.”  
“Greed has blinded you,” Rom sighed, “and you will pay dearly for it.”  
Outside, another explosion sounded, and Antonia whipped around to peer out the door, spying the tell-tale plume of smoke at the edge of the trees. The outsiders were here.   
Behind her, there was a scuff of boot on wood, and she twisted in time to bring her arm up, catching the slash of Rom’s blade that had been meant for her neck on her forearm. Snarling, she used her arm to force his down, bringing the widow-maker up between them and pulling the trigger. The explosion, though smaller than the one outside, left her ears ringing as Rom’s head burst into a red mist, what little brains he’d had painting the wall of the tavern.   
“Antonia,” Robyn called, rushing in, Yohan close on her heels.   
Sheathing the gun, Antonia lifted her arm and gritted her teeth as she pulled the blade from her forearm, letting it clatter to the floor in disgust.   
“Crazy fucking bastard,” she hissed, tearing a strip from her shirt and wrapping it tightly around the wound.   
Another explosion sounded, closer than the last and followed by maniacal cackling.   
Great. This day just kept getting better.   
“Weapons ready,” Antonia commanded, loud enough for the crewmates outside to hear before striding out the doorway, turning the corner and creating a small hill.   
Whatever she’d been expecting to see, it wasn’t a group of people standing around the middle of town, hands linked as they swayed and softly sang. They were all dirty, varying in gender, build, and race. But they all had whisps of yellow tinged power flowing from them into the centre of the circle. The circle in which the other three of her crew lay, eyes wide open as their very life was ripped away from them. The people were… they were killing her crew.  
Beside her, Robyn pulled a bolt back into the slot of her crossbow, a tiny click sounding.  
The two closest to them, a man and a woman, froze, as if they’d heard the sound. Together as one, the turned, and Antonia’s heart turned to lead as she beheld their eyes, solid black with only a sliver of white, like the pinprick of a cats eye. No soul, no mercy, no life, resides in those eyes. Whatever they were, they were not normal beings.   
“Demons,” Yohan breathed, barely a whisper.   
“Mages,” Antonia said, equally soft.   
As soon as she said it, the two jerked in time, tilting their heads up and howling to the sky, the power that had been mere whisps around them glaring and swelling. Antonia watched her as the life in her crew’s eyes faded, until they were nothing but husks.   
“No!” Antonia shrieked, levelling the gun at them and firing.   
The bullet pierced the woman’s back, and she staggered, but did not fall. Through her veil of dark curls, she turned slowly, making eye contact with Antonia as a wicked grin spread across her face. In one fluid motion, she waved her arm towards Antonia, and suddenly the ground was not where it had been a moment before. She became weightless as she was flung through the air, coming to land in a heap in the ash, left gasping for air.   
The world became chaos after that. Yohan charged, using crossbow and sword. Robyn rushed to her side, helping her up. And Antonia watched as the three crewmates in the circle were devoured completely, their withered skin flaying away to reveal white bones, quickly eroded and made black by whatever dark magic the mages were using. The mages cries of glee could be heard over the sound of Reaper explosions, which they tossed about with their powers. The man and the woman grinned at one another, despite the blood dripping from the woman’s back. As if sensing Antonia’s stare, the woman turned, sauntered over the the skeletons of her crew, lifting one skull and holding is beside her own. Those eyes, demonic as anything Antonia had ever seen, gleamed as the woman smiled, turning her head and planting a big kiss on the skull’s mouth.   
The woman would die by her hands. One way or another.   
Antonia pushed Robyn off, flexing her fingers as she called her magic to her. When the woman tried to fling another bout of power at her, Antonia simply grabbed it with her winds and tossed it aside. The look of confusion on the demon mage’s face was almost as satisfying as tearing her throat out would be. Or suffocating her with the winds at Antonia’s command. The man stood beside the woman, the others in the group turning to fend off the crew of the Bastard, who had come ashore as soon as the explosions had become too close. The crew had numbers on the mages, but they had an unknown amount of power.  
When the man joined the woman in flinging power at Antonia, she slowed at their combined force, but did not falter, using her winds as a shield. Firing another shot, it caught the man in the leg, and he staggered slightly. A crossbow bolt slammed into his chest a second later, courtesy of Robyn, skillfully concealed behind the ruins of a building.   
Antonia reloaded, fired. Reloaded, fired. All the while closing the distance between them. The sky above crackled with lightning, rain beginning to pour down, as if a dam had finally broken open.   
“One more!” cried the woman to her people, never breaking eye contact with Antonia.  
Curling her lip, Antonia fired again, but the pair had grown smart, using whatever power they had to shield themselves. The rain pounded down, drenching them in a matter of seconds, lifting the ash and washing it away.   
“I don’t suppose you’d consider surrendering?” Antonia called over the torrent.  
The man laughed, a cruel sound.   
The woman smiled, casting a loving glance his way before replying. “I would not.”  
“So be it.”  
Antonia threw everything she had at them, shoving violently with her winds, pushing the rain into their faces, all the while keeping herself shielded. She held her own for a time, dancing between the pair, slashing with sword and firing with the widow-maker. She had no idea where Robyn or Yohan had gone.   
The blow came from behind. As she’d ducked and punched out with her power at the man, the woman levelled a blast into her spine so powerful she swore she heard something crack. The ground rushed up to meet her as she slammed face first into the muddy ground. A foot came to rest on her back, pushing the side of her face into the pooling water.   
A victory cry rang out, but not from the pair she’d been dueling. Rather, it came from across the clearing, as a mage pulled her hand from Yohan’s neck, tearing his throat out with the movement.   
No.  
The cry was taken up by the rest of the mages, a sound so animalistic, so feral, that her entire crew stopped as the fighting paused. In front of her, the ground began to glow with the same yellow tinge as before, the light spreading in an intricate, symbol laden circle. Then, as if being pulled apart from beneath, piece by piece, the ground began to shudder and give way beneath the circle. Darkness yawned open where the circle of runes had been a moment before, and Antonia watched in horror as blackened, clawed fingers reached up from the depths, curling to the edges of the hole as the creatures began to crawl out. Inch by horrible inch, the being pulled itself out of the pit, coming to kneel mere feet from where Antonia lay, unable to move. Leathery wings stretched out behind it, soulless black and red eyes peering out from a scaled, scarred face. An eerily humanoid face, Antonia realized as she stared. The features weren’t so different from those she called crewmate, though sharper and uglier. It’s claws and teeth were impossibly long, it’s back hunched and it’s legs bent in a way that reminded her of a cat's back legs. A long, barbed tail lashed the air behind it, the same mottled grey and black of its skin.   
The weight on her back lessened as the pair moved toward the beast.   
The man and the woman bowed to it, smiling and laughing as those eyes flicked their way.   
Demon. It was a demon. That was the only explanation. In a world where people told stories about the glorious defeat of such evil, this thing existed.   
Antonia could not move, could not believe her eyes. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.   
Lasahr. Lasahr had been right.   
Canon fire slammed into the ground a few feet from where the demon stood, and it whipped its head around to stare just as Antonia did at the Bastard, which had sailed into view and was now firing at them.  
Her crew. There was still members of her crew alive. For them, she had to get up. For them, she would get up.  
Staggering to her feet, Antonia roared, “Retreat!”  
Her crew obeyed immediately.  
Distracted by the demon, the mages did not give chase as the remains of her crew bolted for the trees. Antonia hesitated, eyes darting around as she searched for Robyn. Where was she? Was she even alive?   
The little bird appeared beside her suddenly, hooking her arm through Antonia’s and pulling her along as fast as her wounded body would allow. The rib she’d thought broken before was on fire now, her arm bled through the makeshift bandage, and the pain radiating through her back was all but unbearable.   
And she was leaving the bodies of her fallen crew behind. Of Yohan. Of those she’d called friend, family.   
It had all gone to shit. She’d allowed herself to be lured in by Rom.   
Greed has blinded you.  
Grinding her teeth, Antonia ran, keeping Robyn close to her side as they cut through the trees. Between the branches, she could see the Bastard looming closer as Lasahr steered it closer to shore, the threat on their lives more prominent than worrying about Rom’s schemes. Reaching the shore, the crew piled into the boats, rowing out as fast as they could to the safety of the ship. Hooking the skiffs to the pulley system, they were hauled up one by one, the crew throwing themselves onto the deck. Antonia jumped from the skiff, boots hitting the deck, followed by her knees as she stumbled. Panting, she pushed herself up, Robyn at her side, wordlessly helping her.   
Brave little bird.  
Antonia met Lasahr on the deck, who took one look at her and called for Tharin in her booming voice.   
“Antonia,” Lasahr said, limping after her captain.   
But Antonia wasn’t listening as she staggered toward the prow of the ship, looking toward Talmor. The demon had been joined by others of its kind, more beasts that had clawed their way up from whatever depths they’d called home. The mages surrounded them, all bowing in subservience as the demons stretched their wings.   
“What kind of shrine did you say Talmor was built upon?” Antonia wheezed as Lasahr came to stand beside her.  
The woman seemed to hesitate, staring on in horror as she finally said, “A shrine to the Demon.”

***

Beneath the waves, the being watched the ship depart. None had noticed the waves had carried them faster than they should have back to the ship. None had noticed her beneath the water. But she had noticed them, had been watching for some time now. It was easy to follow the captain when she so rarely set foot on land. And now that things were becoming interesting, there was no way she would let the captain and her ship out of sight. Not if she could help it. There was something about the woman that called out to her, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on it just yet. It was as if her wildness called out, and the being wanted desperately to answer. But for now, she would have to be content to follow along.   
For now.


End file.
